


when we wonder why we bother

by potterplants



Category: Dunkirk (2017), Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Art Student Harry Styles, Attempted Sexual Assault, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mild Smut, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 22:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 93,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterplants/pseuds/potterplants
Summary: Tom was the son of a lord, who always did and said the right thing, and was on the direct path to the rest of the predestined life his parents set out for him. Hethoughtit was what he wanted.Until he met Harry.University AU with long car rides, ridiculous boys, and late nights spent in the library.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First things first—the university that the story is based in does not exist, which is why names of buildings and professors aren’t going to be found on Google. I borrowed a few things here and there from universities in the UK—mostly Oxford—and went from there. 
> 
> I've been writing this for a few weeks now, and I'm very, very excited to start sharing it.
> 
> Title from Sober II x Lorde

FRIDAY - 15 Days

 

Tom’s back ached from carrying his bag all the way from campus to his accommodation, and he tried not to think about all of the textbooks he managed to fit inside. Last Christmas, when he was back home for the holidays, Mum kept telling him to drop a module or two, but this was the course load Father took when he was at this university. If he dropped even one module, his father would find out about it and show up at his room to force him to _reconsider_. Being Tom Glynn-Carney meant a lot of things at this university, but it especially meant that every move he made would eventually be reported back to his father.

“Ay, Tom, wait up.” Tom paused and looked over his shoulder as his mate Jack crossed the street towards him. “We’re going down to the pub to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Celebrate the fact that Barry didn’t fail his Game Theory exam.

“Wow,” Tom deadpanned. “I’m glad I didn’t join the pool.”

Jack grinned. He was the only one who didn’t bet against Barry. Chances were most drinks were going to be on him tonight. “You in?”

“Can’t,” Tom said. He adjusted the straps of his bag on his shoulders, careful to not turn it towards Jack. “I, uh, have a thing.”

Jack raised a brow. “Okay. We’ll be out for a while so feel free to shoot me a message if you finish your… _thing_ in time.”

“Will do,” Tom said, forcing a bright smile. In his experience, everything could be smoothed over with one of his best smiles. “See you.”

He watched Jack swagger back the way he came, probably back to the house that he lived in with three other people that weren’t apart of their circle of friends. Tom envied him for the freedom that came with living out of halls. When Jack asked if he wanted a room before the term started, Tom had to ask his parents for permission since they paid for everything.

 _You don’t want roommates, Tommy_ , Mum said as she fussed with his hair.

 _You’ll fall behind on your studies_ , his father told him while he poured himself another glass of scotch.

 _You don’t need the headache_ , Mum cooed, rearranging the flowers in the dining room for the twelfth time that day.

 _You’ll lose focus,_ Father warned him before disappearing into his office for the rest of the night.

It was a wonder that Tom didn’t have voices in his head nagging at him that sounded a hell of a lot like his parents.

He let himself into his dorm, dropping his bag by his desk. He glanced at the clock that hung across from his bed, which said he had fifteen minutes before he was officially late. Outside in the hall, he could hear people start to gather, catching up after classes or getting ready to go back out again. Before someone could try his room, he started to undress himself, pulling off the jumper he wore over his plaid button down first. He carefully folded it into a navy square and set it down on his bed before he tugged his belt through the loops of his trousers.

Once dressed, he slipped on his knee length overcoat and stepped back out into the hallway. He smiled at his neighbor—a second year girl who was studying philosophy—before locking his door and heading back out of the building. People stopped when they saw him, to smile or to ask what his plans were for the weekend, and Tom supposed it was nice that so many people were friendly to him—even if the reason was because of The Honourable that prefaced his name and not off of his own merit. There was always a give and take, Tom learned quickly, and in order to attend a university like this, he had to put up with the social climbers that disguised themselves as friends.

The bus pulled up to the sidewalk, and Tom filed up the stairs, touched his Oyster card to the reader, and walked to one of the empty seats near the back. The cracked plastic of the seat crinkled under his bum as he sat, and he set his bag down on the seat next to him before folding his hands in his lap and turning to look out of the window. Riding a bus was another one of those little things that shouldn’t have meant as much to him as it did. He had his own car on campus, but the day he bought his Oyster card during a trip into London was the first small bit of rebellion Tom had ever done in his life.

“Mind if I sit, mate?” Tom looked up, up, up at the boy standing in the aisle in front of him, staring expectantly at the seat Tom’s bag rested on.

“Oh—right—yeah,” he said, grabbing his back and setting it down by his feet.

“Thanks.” The boy sat down in the now vacant chair, turning his legs partially into the aisle still because they were too long for the little bit of space in front of the chair.

Tom smiled at him before he looking away again, just as the bus jerked forward. He tapped his fingers against his thigh, fighting to not look at the clock on his phone. At this point, he was most definitely going to be late, and he had no one to blame but himself. He should’ve told Professor Yates that he had somewhere to be, but he didn’t know how to politely leave the conversation, which had gone from a question Tom wanted to ask about the lecture to the bill his father was helping pass that week in Parliament.

The side of his face burned, like there were eyes on him, and he turned to his left to find his seatmate watching him. “Everything alright?”

“You look familiar,” he said, his accent hauntingly familiar. He was from up North, too, Tom realized. Where Tom’s family was from as well.

His smile turned brittle. “I’m Tom Glynn-Carney. My father is Miles Glynn-Carney—“

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not it.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure then,” Tom said with a shrug. He’s never seen the boy in his life. There weren’t a lot of people he knew that looked like he did—long hair, tattoos, and big, black boots that were scoffed and well worn. “I must look like someone you know.”

The boy snorted. “Trust me, mate. There’s no one else in this city that looks like you.”

Tom felt his face flush. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all, which didn’t bother the other boy. He pulled out a sketchpad from his messenger bag and flipped it open to a clean page. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom watched as he produced a piece of charcoal from seemingly nowhere and started sketching. He made long strokes across the paper, careful to keep the side of his hand from smudging the lines.

“You’re an art major?” Tom asked him.

The boy cut his eyes to him. “Yeah. You?”

“Uh, law,” Tom told him, running his fingers through his hair. “What’s your main focus?”

“I paint,” he said, “but I still use other mediums.”

“Any good?”

“I’d like to think so. Any good at getting criminals off?”

Tom didn’t know if he meant to make that sound dirty or not but decided to leave it. “That’s not what I plan on doing with my degree.”

The boy arched a brow, but he didn’t take his eyes off of his drawing. “Intrigue. Do tell.”

“I’ll probably do what my father does.”

“ _’Father’_ ,” he repeated in an overtly posh accent that Tom supposed was meant to be his. “And what does Father do?”

“He’s, um—he’s in government.”

“Which level?”

“Parliament.”

The boy’s hand paused. “Did I vote for him?”

“Well. No. He’s in the House of Lords.”

He closed his sketchbook. “Right. Got it. That’s why you thought I might know you because of him.”

“It’s usually the case,” Tom said, shrugging. He glanced out of the window just as they pulled up across from a familiar brick building. “Oh, this is my stop.”

“Mine, too,” the boy said as he repacked his sketchbook. He got to his feet, shouldering his bag and stepped back, gesturing for Tom to go ahead. “After you, Lord Glynn-Carney.”

“I’m not a lord,” Tom mumbled as he stepped into the aisle. He thought he heard him chuckle behind him, but he refused to turn around, his back rigid as he walked up the aisle. He hopped off of the bus and kept walking towards the building. He knew that the boy was following him, if only because he could feel that heat on the back of his neck and the sound of his boots clomping along after him on the pavement.

He opened the door, and because manners couldn’t be untaught, he grudgingly waited for the boy to catch up behind him, holding the door open for him. He winked at Tom as he slipped in and went to the hallway off to the left. Tom told himself not to stare after him, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something about the way he moved—lazy yet confident—that caught Tom’s eye despite his effort to ignore him. His broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist and those long legs looked strong even under the holey black jeans.

Before Tom could turn away, the boy looked over his shoulder and caught Tom watching him. The corner of his mouth quirked into a half smile before he looked away and continued down the corridor to wherever it was he was going.

It wasn’t until Tom was halfway to his own destination that he realized he never asked for the other boy’s name.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, when he was curled up with a cup of tea doing his readings for his tutorial next week, he received a text from Jack telling him that they were outside his accommodation. When he said he was busy, Jack threatened to have them all start singing the national anthem until he came outside. He didn’t believe him until he heard, “God save our gracious Queen!” through his window.

“You’re all idiots,” Tom said flatly as he stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. “I have never met so many idiots before in my life.”

“Aw, don’t be mad Tommy boy.” Aneurin threw his arm around Tom’s shoulders, making Tom stumble forward from his weight. The smell of beer practically leaked from his pores, and Tom stifled a gag.

He shoved Aneurin off of him. “I thought you were supposed to be celebrating.”

“Oi, he’s got his ‘Arry Potter glasses on,” Barry said, grinning, as he pointed at Tom’s reading glasses. “Do a spell for us, lad!”

Tom turned to Fionn, who was standing behind Jack, looking as if he wanted to be there about as much as Tom did. “Anything?”

“We got thrown out,” he told him, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his yellow jacket.

“We’re going to mine,” Jack said. “My roommates are having some people over.”

“The night is young!” Barry exclaimed, his blue eyes bright.

Tom shook his head. “Not tonight, lads.”

“We had a feeling you’d say that,” Fionn said. “Grab him.”

“Grab—what—?” Before he could run, Aneurin and Jack were on either side of him, grabbing him by the arms—both boys twice as big as him and they knew as much considering the stupid grins on their faces. “ _Fionn_.”

“I’m not going to be alone tonight,” Fionn said. Barry tried to lunge at him, but he stepped out of the way and caught Barry by the collar before he could barrel forward. “You’re helping me with them.”

“Fine,” Tom said. “Let me change at least—“

“No time,” Jack said as he started walking away. “We gotta go.”

Like a group of school children, the four boys followed Jack back to his house. Tom fell in line with Fionn while Aneurin and Barry stumbled ahead of them, trying and failing to keep the other upright. He listened to Fionn talk about his drama classes and swallowed the envy that bubbled up. Usually, he was better at keeping his feelings in check, but this was their third year. He was nearly done with his degree, a degree his father wanted for him, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had given up more than three years in the process of getting it.

Jack’s house was the last at the dead end, a four story Victorian that looked as if a giant squashed it between its behemoth hands. They climbed the crumbling brick stairs up to the house, which was a feat in itself considering the state of half of them. The front door was already open, and the boys walked right in, shedding their coats and handing them to Jack, who stuffed them in the coat closet off to the side of the entrance.

The only time Tom’s been at to Jack’s was when he comes to pick him up, but that was only from the outside. Inside, it looked less like someone’s Nan’s house and more like it belonged to four university students. There was a moldy green couch pushed against one wall in the lounge and what appeared to be a cardboard dance floor set out in the center of the room, where people were gyrating against one another to a Justin Bieber song. At the back of the house, in the galley kitchen, bottles and cans of empty beer lined the countertops, and Tom could smell marijuana from somewhere.

He and Fionn exchanged a look, neither looking very impressed.

“You said your roommates were having _some_ people over,” Tom said to Jack. “For fuck’s sake, Jack. I’m wearing bloody joggers.”

Jack shrugged, handing him a bottle of beer. “It must’ve blown up. It happens.”

“What do you mean _it happens_?”

“Someone will invite a couple people over and it’ll just snowball.”

“How do you ever sleep?”

“Earphones. One of my roommates is hardly ever here, and I reckon its cause he can’t stand it, though he’ll never say it.”

“Why’s he bother with the rent then?”

“Storage, I suppose. His room is basically where he keeps his shite. You’ll meet him eventually.”

“Hopefully in different conditions,” Tom quipped before he took a sip from his bottle. Fleetingly, he wondered if this roommate was the one in Tom’s room, the one that became vacant this year when another roommate graduated. When Jack was distracted with a brunette girl in a Smith’s t-shirt, Tom slipped away towards the staircase.

If he remembered correctly, the bedroom was on the top floor. He walked past the couples snogging on the stairs and stepped over the cat that may or may not belong to Jack’s roommate Molly. He heard his name be called and turned as the girl from his theory module that asked him for notes sometimes tried to wave him over. He thought her name might’ve been Sarah, but she didn’t quite look like a Sarah. He offered her an apologetic smile and pointed up before disappearing up the landing.

Ever since he was young, he was used to people knowing his name even if he didn’t know theirs. It was in part because of his father’s title, and the title that was then bestowed upon him, but he was also very aware that he’d inherited Mum’s high cheekbones and blue eyes. He had his fraternal grandfather’s strong jaw and his infamous dimpled chin that he and his father shared, and his hair was a shade of gold that women were constantly fawning over no matter where his mum would take him—and one of her favorite pastimes was taking him places with her.

He was the “heir” now, but he used to be just a prize, a thing to show off. As he grew older, he realized that there were many things that people coveted—his money, his status. His looks. Despite his privileged education, despite all of the expensive schools he attended, he never learned what it was like to trust because everyone that entered his life seemed to want _something_ from him.

Upstairs, the music was more of a dull pounding, the bass shaking the thin walls. He walked down the hallway, which seemed to get narrower the further back he walked. A charming poster of Sir Ian McKellen and Sir Patrick Stewart was lazily tapped to one wall as someone’s idea of interior design, and Tom had to step over a pile of dirty laundry that was unceremoniously left in the middle of the hall.

The only door that was left ajar was the one at the end, the one that he was looking for, and he could just make out the unmade bed from inside.

Tom looked over his shoulder before he walked in, shutting the door behind him. The only light came from the opened window, and the fairy lights that were strung over the desk that they left on. He ran his finger over the edge of the desk, where a stack of notebooks was left out. A pair of beaten brown Chelsea boots were left out by the wardrobe and an old football jersey hung off the back of the desk chair. On a small end table, a vintage record player was housed, along with an extensive collection of records to go with it that would have even impressed the notoriously unimpressed Fionn. As he flicked through the records—ranging from Stevie Nicks to Pink Floyd to Adele—Tom couldn’t help but wonder who the hell Jack’s mysterious roommate was and why Jack never seemed to talk about him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, slipping his shoes off before he tucked his legs up. Taking another swig of beer, he stared out the window. Outside, the neighborhood was quiet besides the students that were still coming and going from the party. The sad part was Tom knew that he could probably live on this street if he asked his parents the right question and said the right things. Without a doubt, if Tom asked, his father would buy him a house to live in all on his own. One of the nicer ones that were being built by a developer the university hired. Even if there weren’t a house available, his father would get him a place after a few phone calls.

It was the depressing reality of his over privileged life; he could have anything in the world as long as it wasn’t anything that he actually wanted.

He took another swig of beer.

 

* * *

 

SATURDAY - 14 Days

 

He was eating in the dining hall when he saw him again.

Jack and Aneurin just left him for their football scrimmage, and Tom pulled out a book to read to keep anyone else from approaching him. It was a move he learned from Fionn, who made avoiding people an art form. He turned his body in his chair, crossing his legs, and leaning against the back of the chair. He popped a chip in his mouth before turning the page.

Abruptly, a plastic tray was set down across from him, forcing him to look up from the line he was reading to find a pair of green eyes peering down at him. His mouth was quirked into a familiar smirk.

“Lord Glynn-Carney,” he greeted, pulling out a chair. “Mind if I sit?”

Tom looked back down at his book. “By all means.”

“What are you reading?” he asked as he cut into the dry grilled chicken breast that was being served today—just like it was served every day.

“Nothing special.”

“Well you’ve certainly piqued my interest.”

Mindful of keeping his hand over the cover, he shut the book and slipped it back into his bag, which was sitting on the chair next to him. “Maybe I’ll tell you when you tell me your name.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “But it’s so much more fun when you don’t know, Tommy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tom said before he could stop himself. His face immediately flushed and he quickly said, “I’m sorry, that was—“

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked.

“Because that was rude of me.”

“Do you always apologize for no reason?”

Tom opened his mouth to respond, only to immediately close it again. “I, um—I guess so.”

“Wow,” he said, chuckling. “You’re a complete stereotype.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tom scoffed. He gestured to Harry’s outfit: a black sweater, black jeans, and those terrifying boots. “Like you’re any better. The all black? Art major? Really? I bet you own a beret.”

His mouth pulled into a frown. “Point taken.”

“Don’t think I’m going to forget that you own a beret.”

“That implies you’ll see me again, Tom. A bit optimistic there, huh?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who found me, Charles.”

His brows pulled together. “What did you call me?”

“Nothing, Podrick,” Tom said as he pushed back his chair. “Have a good day, William.”

“Hold on,” he said, holding up a hand. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Tom arched a brow. “What’s up?”

"I had a proposition for you,” he said. “Next Friday, are you going back to the—“

“Oh, Fionn, hi,” Tom said loudly, way too loudly, when he saw his friend approach with a plastic bag in one hand and a cap pulled over his thick hair. Fionn frowned at him, his eyes trailing over the boy across from him, who was still watching Tom. “Mate, sit. Please.”

“Okay,” Fionn said slowly. He took the other seat next to Tom without Tom’s bag on it, setting his grocery bag down. To his lunch companion, he said, “I’m Tom’s friend, Fionn.”

The other boy leaned forward and offered his hand. “I’m _not_ Tom’s friend, William.”

Tom narrowed his eyes as Fionn chuckled, unpacking his lunch onto the table. “That doesn’t sound like Tom.”

Not William perked up. “What _does_ sound like Tom then?”

“Everyone loves Tom, the prat,” Fionn said, nudging Tom with his elbow. Tom forced a smile and dropped his eyes to his lap. “We can’t go anywhere without someone stopping him to say hi. He’s always volunteering us for some kind of charity thing, and professors actually ask _his_ opinion on things.”

“I think that’s enough, Fionn,” Tom said, refusing to meet Not William’s eyes. “Why aren’t you at the scrimmage?”

“I’d prefer to eat than watch Aneurin twist his ankle again,” Fionn said, holding up his sandwich to prove his point. “I’m sure we’ll hear enough about it when it’s over with anyway. So what do you do, William?”

Not William pulled his eyes away from Tom and smiled at his friend. “I paint. Are you studying law like Tommy?”

Fionn’s eyes widened at the casual use of that nickname, but he didn’t call him out on it. If anyone knew how adamant Tom was against people using that name for him, it was Fionn. “No. Definitely not. I study drama.”

Tom tuned out as Not William started grilling Fionn about his course and pulled out his phone from the pocket of his bag. He had a few emails from his professors and a handful of notifications from his social media accounts, but it was the missed call that caught his attention. No voicemail, no message—a single missed call from FATHER.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Tom said as he pushed back his chair. He didn’t look at the other two as he clicked on his father’s office ID and walked away, bringing the phone to his ear.

His father’s PA answered on the second ring. “Lord Glynn-Carney’s office, how may I help you?”

“Diane, love, it’s Tom,” Tom said, injecting a smile into his voice. “I received a call from Father.”

“Of course, dear. One moment please.”

“Thank you, Diane.” He leaned against the wall outside of the dining area, where people posted flyers for their gigs or looking for roommates. There was one looking for models to pose nude for a figure drawing class, and idly, Tom wondered if Not William ever took a class like that.

“Tom,” his father said, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I’m glad you called me back so soon, son.”

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

“As you already know, next weekend is important to your mother. Your presence will be expected.”

His shoulders slumped. “I—I will be there. Of course. Anything for Mummy.”

“Excellent,” Father said. He could hear papers being shuffled. “Now tell me about your tea with Professor Dubois.”

When he walked back into the dining area, Fionn was sitting alone at the table. He put his phone back into his back pocket as he took his seat. “Hi. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Fionn said as he peeled open a banana. “I talked to your William friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” Tom said, “and his name isn’t William.”

“Then what’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

Fionn snorted. Around a bite of banana, he said, “That’s really bloody strange, man. How’d you even meet him?”

“On the—uh, in a queue,” Tom lied, scrambling to build his excuse. “At Tesco.”

“Why were you in a Tesco? Did the Waitrose shut down?”

“The grocery jokes are never funny, Fionn.”

“Was it your dad who called?”

“Yes.”

“Everything alright?”

Tom plastered on a smile. “Yes. Everything’s great.”

 

* * *

 

Tom adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose for the hundredth time that night. It was nearly half seven, which meant they’ve spent five hours in the library stacks, going over his notes for an exam tomorrow. His eyes hurt from the strain of staring at all of the tiny black words for hours on end. Across from him, Aneurin was typing away on his laptop while Barry laid down under the table for his mid-revision nap. He checked the time on his watch. Jack left nearly an hour ago to go get coffees, and he hadn’t returned any of Tom’s texts asking what was taking so long.

He glanced at his phone. They were meant to go to Fionn’s dress rehearsal soon, but no one else seemed bothered that they’d miss it if Jack didn’t come back in time. He couldn’t just leave without the rest of them either; he wouldn’t make the rest of them look bad.

Abruptly, he felt something snag his ankle, and his whole body jerked, his leg kicking out instinctively.

“Bloody hell, Tom,” Barry said, his voice muffled. “It was just me, mate.”

“Why’d you grab my leg, you twat?” Tom asked, shaking Barry off of him. “We’re going to miss Fionn’s rehearsal.”

“It’s not the actual play though, is it?” Aneurin said without looking up from his term paper. “He’ll understand.”

“We made a promise,” Tom said. “He’s expecting us.”

“We’ll meet him for dinner.”

“We promised we’d be _there_.”

The chair to the right of Aneurin moved back and Barry’s head suddenly popped up. “Well we can’t just go without Jack.”

“I know,” Tom said, sighing. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where do you reckon he went?”

“Clearly not to get coffee,” Aneurin said, scratching the side of his nose. “He might’ve run into someone.”

“Must be some bird for him to just ditch us,” Barry snorted. Tom wouldn’t put it like that, but he had to agree. Jack leaned more towards Tom’s way of thinking. There would have to be a good reason for him to just beg off without even warning them that he wasn’t going to come back.

“I’m going to go to his house,” Tom said as he started to get his things together. “Keep your phones on you. Hopefully I can find him, and we’ll make it to the end of Fionn’s rehearsal.”

“Yes, Mam,” Barry said, throwing his arm over the back of Aneurin’s chair and leaning in to read his laptop screen. Tom cuffed the back of his head as he walked around the table, replacing his glasses with sunglasses.

Outside, students were milling around after a long day of classes. Barry somehow convinced him to drive them all to this library so he tossed his bag into the backseat of his car before getting into the driver’s seat. The interior still smelled like the McDonald’s that Barry insisted they stop for, and he had to roll down the windows to air it out despite the temperatures outside.

Ten minutes later, he pulled up to the curb opposite from Jack’s house. As a courtesy, he texted Jack that he was outside of his house before he walked up the pathway to the front steps. He knocked twice before taking a step back, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat and cursing himself for forgetting his gloves at home.

The door opened and Mary popped her head out, a smile tugging at her red mouth when she saw Tom on the steps. “Tom, hi,” she said, pulling the door open more. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m looking for Jack,” he said. “He hasn’t been answering his phone, and we’ve got somewhere to be. Is he around?”

Mary grimaced. “That’s my fault. One of our roommates got himself into a little trouble, but I had to revise. I asked Jack if he could help—that’s probably why he hasn’t been answering your texts.”

“Ah,” Tom said. “That makes sense then. Any idea when he’ll be done?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure. I’ll tell him you stopped by?” she offered.

“Thank you, Mary. I’m sorry that I interrupted your night. Happy revising.” He waved before walking back to his car. If Jack was otherwise preoccupied, there was nothing he or the others could do about it. He texted Aneurin and Barry that he was on the way back to the library and that he’d explain where Jack went when he picked them up.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He kept his gaze forward, focused on the stoplight, and not on the people on the sidewalk gaping at his car. Yet another reason he hated driving this car places. As soon as the light turned green, he put his foot down on the gas and shot forward. The engine practically purred, eager to go faster than 30 mph.

Usually, Tom was very careful with this car—he absolutely refused to wreck the thing and give his father another reason to reprimand him—but there was something about tonight. Maybe it was Jack disappearing on them, or the fact that Fionn wouldn’t speak to them all for a week, but Tom didn’t want to be careful. He was feeling a little reckless, his hands shaking with pent up energy. Part of him wanted to keep driving, driving until he hit the sea, but he had obligations. He had friends and classes and expectations tying him to this place.

When they pulled up to the theater, Fionn was sitting out on the steps, his phone screen illuminating his face. He didn’t look up when Tom pulled up to the curb and lowered the window.

“Fionn, we’re sorry,” he called out.

Barry wiggled his way forward so he could stick his head out of Tom’s window. “Fionn! Babe, it was Jack’s fault!”

“Sit down,” Tom said, waving Barry back. “Fionn, we’ll take you to dinner. Not Nando’s, we promise—“

“I’m waiting for someone,” Fionn said, pocketing his phone.

Tom stared at him. “Who are you meeting?”

“None of your business,” Fionn said flatly, bringing his knees to his chest.

Aneurin scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. He’s going to stay mad, Tom. We did our best. Let’s just go.”

“No,” Tom said, opening his door. He stepped out onto the curb, careful to not clip Barry as he shut his door. “Fionn, come on—“

“You said you’d be there,” Fionn said, “and you weren’t. There’s nothing else to say.”

Frustration simmered under his skin, but he put a leash on it. They were in the wrong, he reminded himself, not Fionn. “Something happened with Jack’s roommate and we—“

“I don’t want to do this right now,” Fionn said as he got up. He slung his bag over his shoulder and took a step down closer to Tom. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. Now can I leave?”

“We’ll make it up to you,” Tom said weakly. “We’ll—“

“Just stop, Tom,” Fionn sighed. A wheezing engine pulled both of their attentions, and Tom looked over his shoulder as a beat up old car pulled up behind Tom’s. The contrast was startling, even to Tom, who usually did his best at ignoring these things. Fionn waved. “That’s my ride. I’ll see you later.”

“Fionn—“

“It’s fine, Tom. Just let it go.”

Tom watched as his best friend opened the passenger side door and slipped inside without looking at any of them. The car reversed barely enough to avoid hitting Tom’s car before shooting off down the street, the sound of David Bowie trailing behind it. He turned to his own car, where Aneurin and Barry were watching, their expressions mirroring his own.

When he got back into the car, Barry put his head on his shoulder, and Aneurin reached over to his squeeze his thigh. None of them said a word as Tom turned the car back on and pulled onto the road. It was one of those odd moments where their moods all seemed to match, and Tom turned up the volume on the radio to drown out the sound of their collective guilt.

Once he was at a red, he looked over at Aneurin, who was staring out the window. His pale profile was barely visible, the side of his face covered by his black curls. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking I’m mad at Jack for being inconsiderate,” he said, “and I’m mad at Fionn for not trying to understand.”

He glanced up in the rearview to make sure Barry wasn’t listening before asking, “Do you think we purposefully forget about Fionn?”

“Not on purpose,” Aneurin said quietly. “He just—we’re just not into that stuff, you know? We’re all at our own colleges while Fionn’s over here doing his own thing. It’s not exactly fair, is it? He can’t expect us to drop everything. And it was only a dress rehearsal. We’ll go to the actual show. We’ll go to all of them if that’s what it takes.”

Tom didn’t say anything. He knew the issue wasn’t that they wouldn’t do all of that; he knew that Aneurin meant every word. It was that they made a promise and they broke it as if it didn’t cost them anything. He just didn’t know how to make it better, and he didn’t know if giving Fionn space was the best idea.

The thing was—Fionn was the last one to join their group. It was two years ago, and Fionn was tutoring Barry in maths. The boys went over to the student union to grab Barry when they found him with Fionn. Then, he was just the sulky boy who helped Barry pass Business Calculus. He couldn’t have known how important Fionn would become to him, or how much he’d learn about him. He knew that Fionn sometimes felt left out; they were both less likely to play football with the others—they’d much rather stay at home and watch movies—but Tom was more willing to conform for the greater good than Fionn was. They tried to rotate weekend activities, but it was always a little more difficult to get Barry to miss the boxing match in favor of watching Les Miserables being performed at the university theater.

Later that night, after he parked his car in the garage, he walked back to his building, already planning on turning on his electric kettle and making a cup of tea. His mum’s go-to when things were hard was always a cup of tea, and ever since Tom’s been at uni, he adopted the practice. He’d make a cup of chamomile and brainstorm ways of making Fionn forgive them.

His phone pinged with a new message.

 

 **Jack** : Fionn’s in hospital. I don’t know what’s wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, apparently British people leave out the article when saying “in the hospital” so they just say “in hospital.” So no, that was not a typo on my part (though I’m prone to making them often). 
> 
> Even though I loved writing Fionn and Harry, I really, really wanted to write something with Tom and Harry. I have a rough outline of how long this will be, but as with everything I do, that’s subject to change.  
> I hope this is okay so far! The next chapter will be posted sometime next week. 
> 
> Feel free to come over to my side blog mymoonandstyles.tumblr.com to chat.
> 
> (Also this is multi chaptered but idk how to change the chapter count until I post chapter 2!! I'm sorry I'm a failure!!!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom, like, realizes things.

SUNDAY – 13 Days 

 

Tom was sitting in an A & E waiting room, Jack on one side and Aneurin on the other. Barry was pacing the floor in front of them, tugging at his bottom lip and glancing at the nurses’ station every so often. Jack offered to get them all coffees but was met with a resounding no.

He leaned his head back against the cool, brick wall. “I feel responsible.”

“Don’t,” Jack said. “Fionn made a choice.”

“A choice he wouldn’t have made if we—“

“Then it’s my own damn fault, isn’t it, Tom?”

He shut his mouth. He wasn’t going to blame Jack, and Jack knew that.

The fact of the matter was that Tom wanted to blame the twat that dropped Fionn off at the A & E and took off without seeing if he was going to be alright—without letting anyone know that he was even there. The only reason Jack knew Fionn was there in the first place was because he tried calling Fionn to apologize and a nurse who had his things answered. None of them were allowed back there since they weren’t family, and Fionn’s parents were a three-hour drive away. When they tried to call, neither of them picked up because of the late hour so it wasn’t like they were on the way either.

Unfortunately, all Fionn had was them.

“I can’t just sit here,” Aneurin said for the fifteenth time. “This is such crap.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jack said flatly. He spent the half hour it took for Tom to recollect the others and come here arguing with the nurses to let him through, only to be told no and threatened that he’d be escorted out if he didn’t sit down.

Barry came to a halt in front of them. “There has to be somethin’ we can do. Why won’t they just fucking tell us anything?”

“Because we’re not family.” Tom was as frustrated as the rest of them, but their were hands were tied. They didn’t even know who Fionn was with before he was taken here, which didn’t help their case. He still couldn’t shake the judgmental stares the people behind the counter gave them when they had to admit they didn’t know where Fionn had been or who he was with.

“We might as well be,” Barry muttered under his breath before he resumed his pacing.

Aneurin ran his fingers through his bushy fringe. “Maybe we should try calling his parents again. Right? If anyone can do something, its parents—“

“Oh my God,” Tom said, clamping his hand down on Aneurin’s thigh. “Ni, you’re brilliant.”

His mate’s forehead pinched. “Thank you…?”

Jack straightened up as Tom got to his feet, pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Calling my dad—Diane, hi, it’s Tom. Is my father in?”

Barry’s brows furrowed. “What’s your dad guna do?”

“Tom?” his father greeted, his voice tinged with worry. “Tom, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Tom promised, turning to face away from the others and their curious faces. “It’s my mate, Fionn.”

There was a moment of silence before his father spoke again. “The actor?”

“Yes, him. He’s in hospital right now. I wouldn’t ask, but we’re desperate. Do you think it’d be possible for you to call and see what’s going on with him? None of us know why he’s in and—“

“What hospital?”

“St. Andrew’s—“

“Give me a moment, son.”

The call dropped, and Tom lowered his phone, turning to look at his friends. They all stared back at him.

“Why would you do that?” Jack asked first, breaking the silence. “You never ask your dad for favors.”

“I know,” Tom said, “but this was important.”

“Holy shit,” Barry said, his eyes wide. “That was badass.”

“It wasn’t.” He felt a little ill right now, but he knew it was the right decision. If anyone could get something done, it was his father. He’d deal with the fallout tomorrow— _after_ they knew what was wrong with Fionn. All the boys kept their eyes on the nurses’ station now, but none of the people back there seemed to be talking to his father. None of their faces paled with fear, and none of them seemed to be near tears—the usual tells that a person was engaged in conversation with Lord Glynn-Carney.

Abruptly, Tom’s phone started ringing, and he hot-potatoed it between his hands, making an embarrassing surprised noise. When he finally managed to regain control of it, he swiped his thumb across the screen before his father could hang up. “’Lo?”

“Your friend is in for alcohol poisoning,” Father informed in, not even bothering to conceal his disapproval. One would have thought it was Tom currently in a hospital bed and not his friend by his tone. “I spoke to a friend, and he checked on the situation. Fionn will be held overnight for observation. They’ll let you boys go in now just show your ID. Your government ID.”

Tom took a deep breath before saying, “Thank you. I’m sorry for calling so late.”

“That’s alright,” Father said. “I’ve got an important meeting tomorrow to prepare for, hence the late night. We’ll see you next weekend.”

“Yes,” Tom said, stifling a sigh. “Goodnight. Give Mummy my love.”

“I will. Goodnight, son.” He ended the call and swapped out his phone in one pocket for his wallet. He flipped through the cards—school ID, random gift cards, his license, and all of the credit cards Mum forced on him—until he found his government ID.

He averted his gaze from the little square, where a smiling, blonde boy was looking up at him. “Come on. We can go see Fionn now.”

 

* * *

 

MONDAY – 12 Days 

 

By the time the sun started to rise, everyone was passed out except for Jack and Tom. Fionn still hadn’t woken up, but his nurse assured them that this was the best for him right now. He was dehydrated from the vomiting, and he was now hooked up to an IV drip, which was making an awful noise every time the liquid dripped in the bag.

When he came in, his blood alcohol concentration was 295 mg/100ml. The nurse said that’s the highest she’s seen since she started working there. Tom couldn’t imagine how much Fionn must’ve been drinking if he got that wasted in that short span of time.

Jack set his phone down and stretched his arms over his head. His joints popped and he let out a low groan, smacking his lips together. “You have an exam today.”

“I do,” Tom said without taking his eyes off of Fionn’s face.

“You haven’t slept.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Tom—“

“I’ll call my professor,” he said. “I’ll get an extension.”

Jack looked as unimpressed as Tom felt. “Really. Huh. Is that the guy you are now?”

“I guess so,” he said dully. His father always wanted him to make these connections with the faculty—perhaps not for these exact reasons, but who was he to turn down an opportunity? “I’m not leaving if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Worth a shot,” Jack said. He looked over at where Aneurin and Barry were sleeping on the couch together, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ve never seen them get along for so long.”

“It’s like we’re their parents,” Tom said wryly. “We’ll take them out for ice cream after this.”

“Buy Barry that bike he’s had his eye on.”

“Aneurin’s curfew will be extended an hour.”

Jack snorted. “That’s too much responsibility for him.”

“You’re probably right.” He tore his eyes away from Fionn and angled his body towards Jack. “Last night. When you were MIA. What happened?”

“My roommate is—he’s got…issues,” Jack said slowly. “He got into a little trouble with one of his old mates, and he needed help so I stepped in before it could escalate into something physical—well, more physical. Before anyone could die.”

“Who the hell is your roommate?” Jesus, how many of his friends are going to end up in hospitals?

“It’ll be easier if you just met him,” Jack sighed. “He’s hard to explain. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just—he’s a lot to handle.”

“Is everything alright now?”

“Yeah, he’s back home for once. Hopefully he goes to his classes.”

“When will you stop having to parent everyone, Jack?”

“When everyone learns how to handle themselves like proper young men.”

Tom snorted. “You should meet my nanny, Virginia. I think you’d get along.”

“Don’t talk about your nanny, Tom,” Jack said. “It reminds me that you call your mum _Mummy_ when you talk to your parents and met the royal family and eat those little sandwiches.”

“Oh, don’t pretend that you don’t know what a tea sandwich is—“

“Is this what hell is?” Both their heads snapped up as Fionn tried to sit up, his eyes still squeezed shut. His arms, weak still, shook with the effort, and he eventually gave up, flopping back down onto his pillow. “I think I’ve died.”

“Not yet,” Jack said. He leaned forward to pull out the hard little pillow that was wedged between his back and the chair and tossed it at Aneurin and Barry. “Oi, get up. He’s awake.”

Tom ignored his other friends as he crossed the room to Fionn, perching himself on the edge of Fionn’s bed. “How do you feel? Do you want me to call for a nurse?”

“I’ll get ice chips,” Aneurin said groggily, untangling himself from Barry and pushing himself off the couch.

Jack shook his head before turning to Fionn. “Should we give you ten minutes before we start grilling you or are you prepared for the inquisition?”

“Get on with it,” Fionn croaked, waving his hand like the queen.

“Who were you with?” Jack asked while Aneurin stumbled out of the room in search of ice chips.

“And where do they live?” Barry added as he sleepily peered over at them.

Fionn rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. “He’s just a bloke from class, and no, I’m not telling you where he lives, Barry. He’s not worth it.”

“Then I’m going back to bed. Glad you’re alive,” Barry said, pulling the pillow Jack threw over his head and rolling back over.

“I guess someone’s not getting two scoops of ice cream,” Jack deadpanned.

“How did you get in here?” Fionn asked.

Tom glanced at Jack, expecting him to answer, when he realized Fionn was directing the question at him. “How’d you know?”

“There’s only one person in this room who could bend the rules in the emergency ward,” Fionn said, “and he’s sitting on my bed.”

“We didn’t have a choice—“

“Thank you,” Fionn said. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“That’s okay,” Tom said, his mouth pulling into a smile. “What are friends for?”

 

* * *

 

TUESDAY – 11 Days

 

His hands roamed over skin, learning the hills and valleys, the scars and freckles. Another pair of hands—strong, calloused hands—gripped the sides of his hips, pulling him closer. He was desperate to lean forward and press a kiss to that stretch of skin above his heart but an invisible force held him back.

He lifted his eyes and was met with a familiar dark green gaze.

“Say my name,” he said roughly. Teeth nipped at his neck.

Tom opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“ _Say my name_.”

Tom jolted awake. Sweat clung to his skin, seeping through the thin fabric of the t-shirt he wore. He pulled it off and tossed it in the direction of his wardrobe before he climbed out of bed. His heart was pounding in his ears. He turned on the tap on the opposite wall and splashed his face with water, scrubbing his damp hands down his neck.

“Pull it together,” he mumbled to himself before he shut the tap off. He grabbed a towel from a nearby shelf and stared to dry himself off. Dropping the now wet towel in his laundry basket, he crossed the room back to his bed and started to strip the sheets, which were damp with sweat now.

By the time he found new set of sheets and put them on, he only had half an hour until his alarm was going to go off. He fell back into bed, folding his hands over his abdomen. Staring up at the ceiling, he tried to concentrate on other things—his makeup exam, Fionn’s deteriorating mental health. His trip back to his parents’ next weekend.

The very last thing he wanted to do was be at his parents’ house next weekend. He considered asking one of his mates—preferably Jack, who his father always liked—but he didn’t feel right putting them through that. There was no looking on the bright side; next weekend was sure to be some of the worst two days of his life to date, and his family would be doing it all with an audience. His father never missed an opportunity to parade Tom around his colleagues, and a weekend home from school meant that at least two families would be staying at their home with them.

He knew that he was meant to be grateful for his family—for the opportunities that his father’s position offered him—but he couldn’t help but envy his friends. When Fionn’s parents finally managed to get in touch, neither of them blamed him for what happened, not like Tom’s father would. They offered to take him out of school, not to punish him or because they were ashamed of him, but so he could recovery in the comfort of his home rather than faraway at university.

He felt ridiculous—he was nearly 21 for Christ’s sake—but all he ever wanted was to be taken care of. Not out of duty or for appearances sake, but out of love. Genuine, no strings love. He’s felt it before—his mates, for all of their faults, would do just about anything for each other, but it wasn’t the same. Tom wanted to feel…special. Important. It was selfish, but it was the one thing his last name couldn’t buy.

 

* * *

 

Tom spotted him again as he walked out of his professor’s office. He was wearing his favorite suit—navy blue with a striped jumper underneath the jacket—and he had turned in his late exam, which he was sure was at least a 90. He walked down the steps of the building and locked eyes with him as he stood across the street, a cigarette between his long fingers. He saluted Tom with two of those fingers before he took one last drag from his cigarette. He flicked it to the ground and rubbed the toe of his boot into it.

“Hey,” Tom greeted as he watched him cross the street towards him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was having lunch with a friend,” he said. Now that he was closer, Tom could see the dark purple bruise that covered his cheekbone and that his bottom lip was split.

“Dear God,” Tom said. Without thinking, he closed the distance between them and gently grasped his face in his hands. He looked down at Tom, with an unreadable expression as Tom’s eyes scanned him for any other sign of harm. “What happened to you?”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked lightly. “I’m fine.”

Tom’s mouth tugged into a frown. “This isn’t funny. Are you putting anything on your lip? It could get infected.”

“’M fine,” he repeated. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“You don’t have to be the tough guy,” Tom said as he released his face. He took a step back and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I suppose you won’t tell me what happened.”

“Nah. It’s not important. Just an idiot with a complex.”

“What kind of idiot does that make you then?”

“Just a plain old one, I suppose,” he said with a small smile. He gestured to Tom’s suit. “What’s with the outfit? Were you teaching today, Professor Glynn-Carney?”

“No,” Tom said flatly. The back of his neck felt hot, but he wasn’t about to be made to feel bad over his clothes. “I need to go. It was nice seeing you—“

He stepped in Tom’s path before he could walk away. “Wait. About the other day. Your friend—“

“Fionn,” Tom reminded him.

He stared at Tom for a half second before saying, “Right, yeah. He came before I could ask you something.”

Tom arched a brow. “Ask away.”

“When are you going back?”

“Go back…?”

“To the Blake Building.“

“Oh.” He shook his head, feeling like an idiot. Of course. “I go every Friday.”

“What about the rest of the week?” he pressed.

“I have other commitments believe it or not.”

“Fair enough. Moving on. I heard you have a car.”

“Who told you that?” Tom asked sharply. It wasn’t as if he was keeping it a secret; he just didn’t think he particularly cared for the idea that he was asking around about Tom.

“I have my sources,” he smirked. “So. Do you?”

“I do,” Tom said, a little reluctantly. “Why?”

“Because I hate the bus,” he said. “It smells, and it stops far too often, and I’ve been riding it since I was a kid. I’m tired of it. So how about this: I go in with you on petrol and buy you dinner every Friday afterwards if you drive.”

“I—I don’t care to drive,” Tom admitted. “It’s why I ride the bus in the first place.”

“C’mon,” he said, grinning brightly. It completely transformed his face when he did. His eyes practically sparkled, and Tom noticed that his teeth were blindingly white despite the cigarettes. “What do I have to do to get you to say yes?”

A slow smile crept up his face. “Tell me your name.”

“Then what game will we play?“

“That’s what I want. Your name.”

He pursed his lips. They glared at one another, neither willing to back down. Tom was still on a step up on the stairs, which meant he was closer to eye level than he usually was. If he leaned forward, he could kiss him if he wanted. He willed himself to not want to.

The other boy’s eyes dropped to Tom’s mouth for a second, as if he could read Tom’s thoughts.

He cleared his throat.

“Fine.” He offered Tom his hand. “I’m Harry Styles.”

 

* * *

 

The last thing he wanted to be doing right now was to show Harry where he lived so they could meet up on Friday, but Harry insisted he’d prefer to meet Tom at his place rather than have Tom go out of his way to pick him up.

“Besides,” Harry had said, “we go to the same bus stop anyway.”

They walked side by side on the sidewalk, looking like polar opposites—Tom in his fancy suit and Harry in what seemed to be his standard uniform of all black. Today, he added a pop of color with a pink beanie cap pulled over his long hair. A silver cross hung at the end of a long necklace, and Tom wondered if he was religious. He noticed on the bus that Harry also had a tiny cross tattooed on his hand. He’d ask, but he didn’t want Harry to think he had the upper hand with Tom’s interest again.

Because it was so close, he made a detour to the parking structure he kept his car at to show Harry what his car looked like. George, a bloke from one of his tutorials last year, was walking out of the structure as Tom and Harry approached it in what was another example of the universe working against Tom. His face lit up when he saw Tom, and Tom had to suppress a groan; George was the type of person that constantly tried to invite Tom out to parties in the hopes that Tom would bring a “higher class of people” that George often referred to Tom as. The one time that Tom actually took him up on an offer, he brought Fionn and Barry, who were probably not what George had in mind. He’d never forget the way George ignored them, or the fact that they stayed for only fifteen minutes before Tom had enough.

His dark brown eyes trailed from Tom to Harry, who was completely oblivious to the tension that now radiated off of Tom as Harry openly stared at George like he was some kind of wild animal in his vest and visor; Tom didn’t altogether disagree with the assessment.

“Hello, Tommy boy,” George greeted jovially. Harry’s head jerked back. “Fancy a walk this afternoon, did you?”

Tom’s expression remained stony. “Looks that way.”

George stopped in front of them, still grinning. “Who’s your friend?”

“William,” Tom answered before Harry could. “We were just heading out for a bite. How are classes? Good I hope.”

“Fine enough,” George said. Tom could imagine he was already failing at least two of them. “Listen, I’m having a party this weekend, mate. I’d love for you to be there, Tommy—“

“His name’s Tom,” Harry said. “He doesn’t like when people call him Tommy, _mate_.”

Tom masked a snort with a cough.

George’s brows pulled together. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

“None of your business,” Harry said before he grabbed Tom’s hand. “We’re leaving now. Enjoy your party, _mate_. Stay away from pigs.”

Before George could respond, Harry was pulling Tom along into the structure. He waited until they were behind the concrete wall before he dropped Tom’s hand.

Tom let out a strangled laugh, feeling shaky and unhinged and alive. “Wow. That was brilliant.”

“Who the fuck was that guy?” Harry asked. His nose was still wrinkled in disgust, making his nostrils flare out like an indignant dragon.

“George. He’s not a friend.”

“Clearly. Did you hear the way he said ‘Tommy boy’? Completely serious, too. What an absolute prick. I’m sorry I ever called you that. Did you see his pants? Who wears salmon colored pants?”

“Half the boys I grew up with,” Tom said dryly. “They’re all the same. Down to the goose feathered vests.”

“Good God,” Harry said. “What a nightmare.”

“I managed well enough,” Tom said with a shrug. He pointed upwards as he started for the staircase to the second floor. “You should hear my friend Jack. Especially when he’s pissed. If you can get around the Scottish accent, he comes up with the best insults.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Your friend’s Scottish?”

“Yeah. He came here for uni. Barry’s Irish and Aneurin’s Welsh. We’ve started a collection.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. “Huh. That’s, uh. Funny.”

“We think it is. Here we are.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and hit the Unlock button. The lights on his car flashed twice, coming unlocked with a high-pitched beep.

Harry’s forehead creased as he looked around the parked cars. “Which one?”

Tom pointed to his car. “There.”

“Holy shit,” Harry breathed, taking a step towards Betty. “That’s an Aston Martin.”

“Yes,” he said, even though Harry wasn’t asking. The wings on the bonnet were hard to miss. He knew that he had a nice car—his father wouldn’t send him to school without one—but normally people pretended that he didn’t have a nice car. Jack often slammed the door shut, and Barry liked to kick his feet up on the middle console before Tom threatened to kick him out. “Is that okay?”

Harry’s head whipped around to Tom. “Are you serious? I can’t even believe I get to _sit_ in it. I couldn’t even imagine driving it—“

Tom held the keys out to him. “As long as you have your license—knock yourself out.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“I mean if you don’t want to—“

“I’ll shut up,” he said as he snatched the keys from Tom. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it.” Tom pulled open the passenger side door and slipped inside while Harry still tried to come to terms with what was happening behind the car. When Harry finally joined him inside, his knee was bouncing like mad as he started the car. “You alright?”

“You’re mad,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You hardly know me and you’re letting me drive your 150,000 pound car.”

"For someone who was pissing himself not five seconds ago to drive this car, you’re making a sound argument for why I shouldn’t let you.”

“Okay, okay, shutting up now.”

Tom nestled into the leather seat and watched as Harry carefully put the car into reverse and started to back out of the spot. Harry bit down on his bottom lip in concentration, his hand gripping the back of Tom’s seat. Harry’s sleeve slipped down his arm, and Tom got a good look at the tattoos that covered it. His eyes traced the outline of a rose before trailing up into his inner arm to a bottle, where he had a single phrase tattooed around it.

 _You booze, you lose_.

Tom wanted to ask him why he got it, but he didn’t want to pry into his business. There was always something personal about tattoos, and this one in particular didn’t seem like it came with a happy story. He tore his gaze away from Harry’s arm and turned his attention back to the front window. “Look at that, you’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Harry said wryly.

“It’s almost as if you’ve done this before.”

“Once or twice if you could believe it.”

Tom’s mouth twitched. “I never would have guessed.”

“Tell me something,” Harry said. “Anything. I feel weird driving your expensive car without knowing anything about you.”

“I’m an Aquarius,” Tom offered.

“No shit,” Harry said. “When’s your birthday?”

“February 7th.”

“I’m 6 days older than you.”

“Not very wise though, are you?”

“Hey,” Harry said in a faux stern voice, “respect your elders.”

 “Alright, old man,” Tom said. “Where are you from?”

“Cheshire. You?”

Tom snorted. Unbelievable. “Cheshire.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Whereabouts?”

“Alderley Edge. You?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

“So we grew up 20 minutes away from one another,” Tom said. “Small world.”

“Who knew 20 minutes away from my wonderful home there was a bunch of twats in rainbow colored pants and puffy vests?” Harry indicated to get into the left turn lane. “Tell me where to go.”

“At the next light, turn left again.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“You really like nicknames, don’t you?” Tom asked dryly.

Harry’s mouth curved into a smile. “There’s a lot of power in a name. I give all my friends nicknames.”

“So I’m your friend now?”

“We’ll see. I need to find a nickname that sticks first.”

Tom snorted. “Right. Turn right here. It’ll be on the left.”

Harry whistled, pulling up to the curb, careful not to skim the tires. “Hamilton House? Not bad.”

“Yeah, well. I’d rather live outside of halls.” He undid his seatbelt as Harry shut off the engine. They both got out of Tom’s car, and he noticed with amusement that Harry gently shut the door instead of slamming it like Tom did. Tom rounded the front of the car and stopped in front of where Harry stood.

“Here,” Harry said, holding out his keys. “Thanks for this.”

Tom took the keys back, his fingers brushing Harry’s. “That’s okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off at your house?”

“No, I’m fine. I like to walk.”

“Well alright. I guess I’ll see you at the end of the week then.”

“Give me your number,” Harry said as he tugged his phone out of the pocket of his impossibly tight jeans. He handed his phone to Tom, who typed in his number and name in a contact card. He sent himself a text before handing it back to Harry. “Now that way we can text each other if something might go wrong.”

“Good thinking,” Tom said, looking over his shoulder as a couple girls that lived on the second floor walked out the front door. They both smiled at Tom before their gazes snagged on Harry. It was almost comical the way their eyes widened at the sight of him—the hair, the tattoos, the bruise on his face—but their surprise quickly morphed into interest.

“Hi, Tom,” one girl, Molly he remembered, greeted. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

The other girl Rebecca nodded. “We should all do something one night,” she said. Her eyes flickered to Harry before she added, “You could bring your friend.”

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Molly said to Harry now. “I’m Molly. This is Rebecca. We’re roommates.”

“Pleasure,” Harry said with a polite smile.

When it was clear that he had no intention of sharing anything else, Molly’s eyes tightened at the corners ever so slightly. “Do you go here? We’ve never seen you around campus.”

“Different circles, I suppose,” Harry said. Tom realized in that moment that his accent was different—his vowels more rounded and his words crisper. The realization quickly gave way to irritation, as Tom understood Harry was mocking the way Tom spoke.

His jaw tightened. “He was actually just leaving.”

“Right you are,” Harry said. He bowed his head to the girls before shooting them a crooked smile. “Until next time, ladies.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “We get it. Get out of here.”

“Yes, sir. See you,” Harry promised Tom before he crossed the street, waving over his shoulder.

Tom watched him walk away, watched the confident way he held himself, the way his hips seemed to sway. When Harry was too far away, he looked away—just to find the girls still standing there.

Watching Tom.

Molly smiled apologetically. “We’re sorry, Tom. We didn’t know.”

His brows furrowed. “Didn’t know what?”

“Nothing,” Rebecca said as she looped her arm through Molly’s. “We meant the offer though. We should have a movie night like old times. Bring Harry if you want. Ooh, and bring Jack. He’s a snack, isn’t he?”

“And available,” Molly said, winking at Tom before the girls walked away, leaving Tom to wonder what the hell just happened.

           

* * *

 

He wanted to tell his friends about Harry, but he held back. He wasn’t ready to share him just yet. His friends had a history of absorbing whatever it is one of them had so that thing became _theirs_ rather than just _someone’s_. Tom wasn’t sure what Harry was to him—a friend, a companion, or something more—but he was too closely tied to other parts of Tom’s life that he kept to himself. He wasn’t ready to share any of it yet, which meant he decided earlier that Harry would stay tucked away.

But.

All day, he’d been thinking about what Molly and Rebecca were implying—that he felt something for Harry that was obvious enough that two girls that hardly knew him could see it, too.

He glanced up at Jack, who was typing figures into his calculator. Out of all of them, Jack was the most sensible. You’d think it’d be Fionn, but he was too easily drawn into himself, thinking far too much and feeling absolutely everything. Tom, try as he might, wasn’t much better—driven by his need to please his parents, to please everyone. So it was Jack they all looked to, and it was Jack Tom thought would be the best to talk to.

“Stop staring at me,” Jack said without looking up from his work.

Tom shut his own textbook, a little louder than necessary, causing Jack to glance up. “I met someone.”

“Is he fit?”

“That’s not the point.”

Jack smirked. “So he is then.”

“Objectively,” Tom conceded, “but he’s not my usual type.”

His friend looked at his watch before he shut his laptop and gave his full attention to Tom. “Alright. We have five minutes before Barry gets out. Talk to me.”

“I met him on—um, at Tesco,” Tom lied, recalling what he told Fionn. “He’s not…not very clean cut.”

“Ah,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair. “Your parents would hate him.”

“I don’t even know if he goes that way,” Tom admitted, “but I’m pretty sure he’s been flirting with me. I let him drive my car.”

 Jack straightened up. “Are you serious? You don’t even let _me_ drive your car.”

“Because you don’t respect her,” Tom said defensively.

“ _You_ don’t respect her—“

“We have officially left the point.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “So you like this guy. Who cares what your parents might think? You’re not proposing.”

“Right. You’re right.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d love to see Mum’s face if she ever saw his tattoos though. He has one of a fly that is just absolutely horrid.”

Jack was quiet for a long moment before he asked, “What’d you say his name was again?”

“’Lo, lads,” Barry greeted, appearing through the stacks with a broad smile “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Tom said quickly, grabbing his things. He shared a look with Jack, who started to pack his bag across from him. They got up from the table and followed their mate, listening to him talk about his tutorial. Jack grunted and nodded at all the right moments, but Tom could tell he was distracted.

Before he could ask what was wrong, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

 

 **Harry Styles** : Thanks again for the ride. Already thinking about the next time. Xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd update next week, but it was really bothering me that it said this fic was completed when it's not so I added Chapter 2 early. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry draws Tom like one of his a french girls.

WEDNESDAY – 10 Days

 

His father was in town.

He called while Tom was walking to his first lecture and requested not just his presence but the presence of one of his friends as well. Since Fionn was all but blacklisted after what happened, and Barry didn’t deal well with anything that required a tie, that left Jack and Aneurin. Since Jack conveniently had class, Aneurin volunteered his services as long as Tom told him what to wear.

“You look fine, Ni,” Tom said for what felt like the hundredth time since they left Aneurin’s flat when he caught his friend fiddling with his coat again.

Aneurin shot him a dirty look. “Easy for you to say.”

“Then it stands to reason that it’s my opinion that matters most, yeah?” Tom held the door to the restaurant opened for Aneurin. His father chose the location and had Diane _email_ it to Tom that morning. “Lean into the fact that you’re fluent in French. Father’s a sucker for languages.”

“Oui, mon ami,” Aneurin said, smirking. “Is he here already?”

“Yes, just look for the man with the most disapproving look on his face—ah, there he is.” Tom smiled politely at the hostess before nodding to where his father was seated by the windows. It was one of the more expensive restaurants near campus, and Tom wasn’t fooled for a second; he knew this was a power play by his father, who would have been fine with any restaurant as long as they served more than just burgers, but he didn’t know what the motive was.

His father glanced up as they approached and pushed his chair back before standing up, buttoning his suit jacket in one swift move. Most people were shocked to find out that Tom didn’t really resemble his father at all. The only time people knew that they were related was when they paid attention—when they realized their mannerisms and the way they held themselves were eerily similar. “Tom. Aneurin, hello.”

“Father,” Tom nodded with a tight smile.

Aneurin shook his father’s outstretched hand. “Lord Glynn-Carney, hello. It’s nice to see you again, sir.”

“Please sit,” Father said, gesturing to the two spare chairs. Once they were all seated, Father unfolded his linen napkin onto his lap and smiled at Tom. “I’m glad we could do this.”

Tom opened the menu. Before they came, he told Aneurin to just order the chicken. It was the only thing on the menu that wasn’t drowning in some kind of purple sauce or sprinkled with an expensive spice that was imported from a different country and cost nearly a term’s tuition to retrieve. “And everything’s alright, I hope?”

“Yes, of course,” Father said as a waitress came over to fill Aneurin and Tom’s water goblets. “Your mother is thrilled to see you next weekend.”

He could feel Aneurin staring at him, but he refused to look at him. “So am I.”

“You’re more than welcome to bring a friend as well,” Father continued, smiling at Aneurin again. The muscle in Tom’s jaw twitched. “All of your friends if you’d like.”

Aneurin’s eyes widened. “Oh, I—“

“Thank you, Father,” Tom said, “but Aneurin, Barry, and Jack are going to a rugby match next weekend.”

“Oh, well, next time then,” Father said. He didn’t ask why Tom didn’t mention Fionn, and Tom was glad that he didn’t.

“That’d be wonderful,” Tom said before Aneurin had to. “I’ll let the others know.”

“Excellent.” Father signaled for the waitress to come back over now so the three of them could order. As expected, his father ordered the most expensive thing off of the menu, and Tom ordered the chicken with Aneurin in solidarity. He ignored the look his father gave him. Just once, he wanted to not have to eat lamb in a plum sauce on a random Wednesday of all days.

He never understood why his father was so set in his ways. They weren’t royalty, and this wasn’t the 18th century. Sometimes he’d loved to just…shake his father by the shoulders and tell him that, but it wouldn’t do any good. All of his old friends were the same—pompous old men with irrelevant, useless titles and big houses that liked to act that they were more important than they actually were. Tom hated them, hated that they tried to make him feel less than because he didn’t care to compete with their self-important sons.

And with that thought came the swift realization of why they were sat for this excruciating meal.

“Which one?” Tom asked abruptly.

Father looked up from his steak. “Excuse me?”

Aneurin looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, and usually Tom would by sympathetic, but his hands were shaking from rage. “Which one of the sniveling offspring of your dear friends said something to you?”

His father set down his fork and knife. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, son.”

"Someone told you that I had a _new friend_ ,” Tom said through his teeth. “I’d like to know who it was.”

Father’s lips thinned before he said, “Robert’s boy. George. Tom, honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking.“

“What’s he talking about, Tom?” Aneurin asked Tom quietly. “ _Who’s_ he talking about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Tom said under his breath so only Aneurin could hear.

His father was still ranting. “Tattoos and piercings—“

“He does _not_ have _piercings_.” That Tom knew of.

“As if that’s any better,” Father said. “This isn’t the kind of person you ought to be surrounding yourself with. He’ll take you down a bad path, Tom—“

“Oh like George is any better?” Tom scoffed. “He parties nearly every night and fails out of his classes until _Robert_ can save his arse—“

“That’s enough,” Father said, throwing his napkin down onto his plate in indignation. “I won’t have you speaking to me this way. About my _friends_ —“

“Is that why you had me invite Aneurin then?” Tom asked. “So I’d behave in front of _my_ friend?”

“I’d like to think your mother and I taught you how to handle yourself in public, in front of your peers, yes,” Father said. He scoffed. “Clearly I was wrong.”

“I’m not going to sit here for this,” Tom said, shaking his head. He pushed back his chair and nodded for Aneurin to follow. “Thank you for lunch, Father. I’m sorry we can’t stay.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Aneurin said. His father opened his mouth to respond, but Tom was there first.

“I’ll see you next weekend,” Tom said as he buttoned his suit jacket. Just like his father would. “Give Mum my best.”

Once they were outside of the restaurant, Tom looped his arm through Aneurin’s and squeezed his wrist. “Thank you. I’m sorry about that.”

“Anytime, mate,” Aneurin said. “George is a twat. I’m not surprised he tattled to Daddy.”

“Yeah that aligns itself with his usual twat-ish behavior.”

“Especially since he had to know that your dad wouldn’t react well over—over whoever this person is—I mean it’s not like even _I_ know who—“

“Okay,” Tom said as they stopped at a corner to wait for their chance to cross. “If you want to know that badly—“

“Does anyone else know?”

“Jack. And Fionn. Sort of.”

“Fucking Jack and Fionn,” he mumbled. When the light turned green, they continued across the street, quickening their stride to beat the countdown. “Yeah, tell me. Tell me more than them.”

“You’re all so competitive,” Tom said, but he was smiling. “Alright, it’s nothing really right now. We’ve just met, and we’re friends. He goes here, and yeah, he’s got some tattoos. He’s a nice guy though—well, that’s probably not true. I think you’d all like him at least.”

Aneurin’s eyes lit up. “Let’s have him over. My flat. This Friday. We’ll do a potluck.”

“Oh, I don’t—“

“—I’ll text Jack right now—“

“—Okay but—“

“It’ll be great,” Aneurin promised.

Tom opened his mouth to protest but closed it when he realized how excited Aneurin looked. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, grinning widely. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll ask him.”

 

* * *

 

The professor was writing a new term on the board when a text appeared at the corner of Tom’s laptop screen. His fingers hovered over his keyboard. He peeked at the girl sitting next to him before he discreetly turned his brightness down with his middle finger. He opened his messaging app and squinted as he read.

 

 

 **Jack** : Ni told me about your lunch. Sorry I couldn’t go.

 **Jack** : We’re doing dinner with your new boyfriend?

 **Tom** : Not my boyfriend. But Ni wanted to. I need to ask.

 **Jack** : What are you waiting for? The invitations to come in from the shop? Text him

          

He closed out of the app and tried to tune back into whatever his professor was saying about intellectual property. It was hard to say if Jack wanted him to ask because he didn’t like to leave things to the last minute, he didn’t want to upset Aneurin, or if he thought it was in Tom’s best interest. Either way, Tom wasn’t interested right now. He knew it was a mistake to tell Jack about Harry; it only made this whole situation ten times worse now than Jack knows Tom is interested.

When class was dismissed, Tom packed his things and started down the aisle, following the line of students down the stairs to the exit. The professor made a point at nodding at Tom as he walked by his desk at the front, and Tom forced a smile in return before he walked out of the room.

He wrapped his scarf around his neck as he stepped outside. The temperatures dropped drastically last night, and while Tom was excited at the prospect of getting out all of his warmer clothes again, he wasn’t ready for winter, which always seemed to sneak up on him every single year. He wondered if he would ever be ready for it again, or if he’d constantly be looking over his shoulder while it loomed over him.

He shook his head, chasing the thought away before it got the better of him. Today wasn’t the day. It wouldn’t do him any good to let his emotions take over and have him curled up in a ball in his room.

Today he had things to do.

It was complete chance that he stumbled upon an art installation that had Harry’s name attached to it. A wall covered in shattered instruments, mostly guitars, which formed the silhouette of a man that Tom thought was meant to be Harry. He was walking past a coffee shop by Jack’s place when he saw it. He took a picture and sent it to Harry.

An hour later, Harry texted him back.

 

 **Harry** : There’s more if you’d like to see it.

 

He sent Tom the address of a warehouse right outside of town. He warned him that he might not want to drive his car, so Tom stepped off of the bus at the corner, willing himself not to turn around and walk back on. Across the street, leaning against the doorframe, he could see Harry waiting for him. He took a deep breath and looked both ways before he hurried across the street. The wind picked up, and he quickly clasped down on the cap he wore before it could fly off of his head.

"Been waiting long?” he asked, slightly breathless, as he walked up the pathway.

Harry pushed himself off of the doorframe, shaking his head. “I heard the bus.”

“What is this place?” Tom asked as he peered around Harry to look inside. All he could make out was the outline of shapes amongst the darkness, as if Harry made sure to turn off the lights before he came to meet Tom outside.

“My home away from home,” Harry said with a half smile. ”In my second year, my professor told me I could use the space whenever I was…in a funk. I’ve been coming ever since.”

“It’s your clubhouse.”

“Yeah. No girls allowed.”

Tom gave Harry a knowing look.

Harry stepped aside and gestured for Tom to go ahead. He hesitated a half second before he walked past Harry, over the threshold, into the building. Harry shut the door behind him, and they lost what was left of the sunlight.

They stood in the darkness, Harry standing behind Tom as Tom tried to look around. The square room was massive with small windows dotting the walls closer to the ceiling. They were covered in what looked to be newspapers, leaving nothing but a dim glow. He took a step further in, his boots clicking against the concrete flooring. He peered over his shoulder at Harry, who was silent as he watched Tom.

“Is this where you murder me?” Tom asked, only half joking. When he was younger, his mum was sure that he’d be taken for ransom one day. He was only allowed to go to and from school by his father’s driver, and when he was at school, he had to check in every night before he went to bed. Apparently, her paranoia rubbed off on him.

Harry shook his head. “Not yet.”

“The lights—“

“Just wait.”

“What—“ He trailed off as a string of fairy lights switched on overhead. And then another. And another. And another, another, another, until a grid of lights sparkled from above their heads.

“They’re on a timer. I can’t work with natural light—what with it changing all the time—but the bills would be too high if I had them on all the time. I had a mate help me rig these for me.”

“Wow—“ Tom’s breath caught when he realized where he was standing—directly on top of an abstract mural of the UK, where swirls of colors and patterns somehow managed to create a landscape of the country. “Holy shit.”

He followed the Thames down to London, where each zone was separated by tube station. A caricature of the Queen grinned up at him, her features cartoonish and exaggerated. He walked back up the mural to Manchester, the city closest to his—their—home. Tom crouched down and touched the bee that hovered over the city, as if it was standing guard over it.

“Wow,” Tom repeated. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Since I first started coming here,” he told him. “I told you I painted.”

“But the café. The installation?”

“That was a favor for the owner. Here. Come look at this.”

Tom followed Harry to where a circle of two-dozen easels was set up. He realized that each one depicted a different stage of construction of the university library that was built when the university was founded. Like a 2D stop-motion film. “How…?”

“I found the blueprints,” he said. “It was one of my first projects. That’s what I’m good at. Landscapes and architecture. Murals. I want to eventually be able to capture movement, but I’m not quite there yet with figure drawing. I’ve been practicing portraits, but it’s been a rough start. A lot of self-portraits. This is my most recent series.”

He led Tom over to a billboard sized canvas that cut across part of Wales. On it was Harry’s face—a lot of Harry’s face. He was happy and angry and surprised. Sad and frightened. Disappointed and elated. Each expression was full of so much life, as if the canvas was really a mirror being held up to Harry’s real face. Tom stepped closer to the frightened face, where a purple-ish bruise bloomed on his cheekbone.

“I was wondering,” Harry said after a moment from behind Tom, “if you wanted to do something for me.”

Tom looked over his shoulder and arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

“I still need to practice,” Harry said, “but there’s just so many times I can paint my own face. I would love to paint you. Your face I mean. Your bone structure is—“ He broke off, his face turning pink. “Well? Can I?”

“I—you want to paint me,” Tom said. “Me.”

Harry nodded.

“I…I guess,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Harry’s eyes lit up, and he walked over to a desk that was pushed against the wall. A pile of papers and notebooks cluttered the top, and he started to sift through them quickly, like he was looking for something. “But only if you do something for me.”

Harry looked up from his stack of notebooks. “Okay. What is it?”

He felt a little breathless. “Come with me to my mate’s flat this Friday.”

“Really?”

“They’re having a dinner kind of thing,” Tom explained. “It’s, um, entire purpose might be to meet you actually.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

“They found out about you,” Tom said. He wanted desperately for the earth to open up and swallow him. “It’s hard to explain—have you ever watched Friends?”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “You’re the kind of group that thinks it’s odd when you have mates outside of each other.”

“Exactly.” They smiled at each other in that way that two people who understand one another do. “So. Will you come?”

Harry flipped open one of the notebooks and picked up a piece of charcoal from the mess on the desk. He used his foot to pull out the desk chair and nudged it towards Tom. “Yes. Now sit. I need to finish my sketch.”

Tom sat down and frowned up at Harry, who was perched on the edge of the desk. “What?”

“I might’ve started sketching you already,” Harry said, not looking nearly as embarrassed as he should’ve been for being caught. “On the bus. Charcoal. There was a dual purpose.”

“Enlighten me,” Tom said dryly.

“I needed to work more with charcoal,” he said. He hesitated before adding, “And the lighting was really good. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

“Then why do you need my permission to paint me?”

“Short of taking your picture like a stalker, I need to look at you for longer than a ten minute bus ride. And nothing can compare to the real thing. A picture misses all of the little details.”

“Okay,” Tom said, leaning back in the chair. He resisted the urge to ask Harry what “little details” he could see on Tom’s face. He folded his arms over his chest and smiled blandly, like when he had to get his picture taken with his parents at events.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “No. Not like that. Just be natural.”

“I can’t smile?”

“No.”

Tom rolled his eyes but did as Harry said, relaxing his face. He didn’t want to stare at Harry so he let his gaze meander around the cavernous room, taking in all of the half finished sculptures and paintings Harry had scattered around. It was incredible all that he accomplished in only a year. Tom had a feeling that Harry was good, but he could have never imagined that he was _this_ good. When his eyes finally fell back onto Harry, who was biting down on his lower lip in concentration as he sketched, he felt the corners of his mouth lift.

Harry’s eyes flickered up. “Stop smiling.”

“Sorry,” Tom said, still watching Harry. “Won’t happen again.”

 

* * *

 

THURSDAY – 9 Days

 

Somehow he found himself in the pasta aisle of Tesco with Aneurin, who was consulting the list he made before they left. Fionn was at the butcher’s next door picking up the roast, and Tom wished he agreed to go with Fionn instead despite his aversion to the hanging pigs that you could see through the window at the back of the shop.

He picked up a bag of penne and tossed it into the basket. He moved further along the aisle to the sauces and paused. “Are we making a sauce or can we buy it?”

“We’ve got to make it,” Aneurin said as he tucked his list into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We need to make a good impression.”

“But why?” Tom asked, looking away from the pre-made sauces, which he had been eyeing longingly. He didn’t think he could make a creamy tomato and herb sauce better than Tesco, but he was on his own apparently.

“Because,” Aneurin said, taking the basket from Tom. “This is important.”

After they finished the shop and paid, they waited outside in Tom’s car for Fionn to finish up. Aneurin reclined the seat all the way back and folded his hands over his stomach while Tom pulled out the book he was reading and flipped to the page he dog-eared.

There was a smudge of charcoal in the corner from when Harry took it out of his hands yesterday. They were on their third sketch, and Harry told him to do something he usually did so he pulled out his book. He had become so engrossed that Harry ended up taking it because his forehead was creasing too much.

Before he left the warehouse to catch his bus back to campus, Harry asked if he wanted to come back the next day. He tried not to think about how Harry’s face fell when Tom told him he had plans. He almost said never mind, that he’d come, that’d he make an excuse for his friends, but he wasn’t going to be _that_ guy. He wasn’t going to drop everything in his life for one person—even if he was completely and utterly fascinated by this person.

There was something so elegant about the way Harry drew—the wide, sweeping motion, the light brushes of charcoal against parchment. Looking at him, one wouldn’t have thought him capable of it, which Tom even more endeared by it. He could’ve watched him draw for hours if his schedule allowed it. He never got to see what Harry drew, though; as soon as he finished with one sketch, he’d flip the page and start a new one without breaking stride.

“Okay,” Fionn said as he opened the back door. “I got your chunk of meat, Ni.”

“It’s for all of us,” Aneurin said, his eyes still closed. “Especially for Tom’s new boyfriend.”

Tom glanced up in the rearview and saw Fionn’s jaw harden. “Whatever.”

“Now, now,” Tom said as he started down the road, keeping his voice light. “Play nice, kids.”

“Tell Fionn that.”

“Real mature.”

“Hey,” Tom said suddenly as he eased his foot down on the brake. “Isn’t that Barry?”

Fionn leaned forward just as Aneurin moved his chair up into a sitting position. They all watched as their mate spoke to another boy they didn’t know, looking uneasy. The light turned green just as Barry reached into his pocket and pulled something out before shoving it into the other boy’s hand.

“Oh fuck,” Fionn said at the same time Aneurin said, “What was that?”

“We have to go,” Tom said, indicating to get into the right lane. “Before he sees us.”

“We need to go over there,” Fionn insisted.

“No,” Tom said. “We can’t. We need a plan before we just…ambush him. We don’t even have the full story—“

“Tom, you know what this is about. He’s doing it again. We know he is.”

“We don’t know that—“

“You can’t just ignore the evidence,” Fionn snapped. “I know you want to think the best of him but come on. He was in the middle of a deal in broad daylight! He clearly has a problem—“

“Stop,” Tom said flatly. “We’re not doing this right now. We don’t even know if what we thought we saw is what we saw—“

“—Don’t talk in fucking riddles, Tom, I know for a fact that he’s in it again—“

“—And Jack’s not even here—“

“For fuck’s sake, Jack can’t solve everything,” Fionn said. “He can’t just talk Barry out of using.”

“No, Tom’s right,” Aneurin said. “If we get on Barry’s case all at once, he’ll just shut us out. We have to be delicate—“

“He’s not a child,” Fionn snapped.

“Barry didn’t yell at you when you had your stomach pumped,” Tom said coldly. “Get off your high horse, Fionn.”

There was a pause and then, “Let me out of the car—“

“No.” Behind him, he could hear Fionn messing with his seat belt and slammed his hand down on the locks before he could unlatch the door. “Seriously, Fionn? What did you plan on doing? Barrel rolling out?”

Fionn kicked the back of Tom’s chair. “Fuck off.”

“I’d love to see that,” Aneurin said under his breath. “Could you imagine?”

“I hate you both,” Fionn muttered.

“But _we_ love you,” Tom said as he pulled into one of the guest spaces in Aneurin’s building’s lot. Once the car was stationary, Tom unlocked the doors and got out. He walked around the back and opened the boot, grabbing the groceries while Aneurin and Fionn finally let their selves out. He handed a bag to Aneurin to carry and ignored the withering glare Fionn was trying to throw at him.

As he walked up to the front door, he saw Jack sitting on a bench. When Jack spotted them, he got to his feet, a smile tugging at his mouth—a smile that was wiped away when he saw Tom’s expression. Tom told him what they saw as Aneurin fumbled with his keys to unlock the door.

“We have to tell his mum,” Jack said as they walked up the stairs. The elevator was still out of service, which meant that anytime they wanted to go to Aneurin’s, they had to climb the five flights of stairs to his floor. “She’ll want to know.”

“She’ll take him out of school,” Aneurin said. “He’ll have to retake the year.”

“So what are you saying, Ni? We don’t tell the woman that her son is using again?”

“I just think we’re going about this all wrong. It doesn’t have to be one extreme or the other. We need to _talk_ to Barry first.”

“That’s what _I_ wanted to do,” Fionn said under his breath.

“No, you wanted to scream in his face,” Aneurin shot back. “There’s a difference.”

Jack took the roast from Fionn, who was breathing like he just run a marathon from the effort of carrying it up the stairs. Honestly, Tom was surprised Fionn had made it this far without just dropping the bloody thing. “Has anyone tried to get a hold of him?”

“No,” Tom said. “What do we say?”

“I’m going to call him. Here.” He passed the roast back to Fionn, who looked a little green as he took it. “I’ll be right back.”

Tom leaned against the wall opposite Aneurin’s front door as Aneurin once again had to locate the keys that he told them he thought might’ve fallen out of his pocket, much to Fionn’s dismay.

Despite the worry he felt over the situation with Barry, his thoughts strayed to Harry, who was probably still at his warehouse working on his projects. He wanted to text him, to see what he was doing, what medium he was practicing, but he resisted. It didn’t matter that Harry invited him back; Harry made his interest in Tom’s company seem almost…professional. That it rested solely on Tom’s cheekbones and the shape of his jaw.

He wished he thought to ask Harry to see the sketches. He wanted to see the way Harry saw him, hoping it might give him a little insight. There was something about Harry that made Tom think he was the type of person who flirted with everyone because he could, and Tom had to remind himself not to read into anything. He definitely wasn’t replaying each conversation they’ve had or analyzing every lingering look.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Harry’s number.

“Hi,” Harry greeted, sounding pleased.

Tom felt his mouth tug into a smile as he set down the groceries and walked further down the hall, away from his friends. “Hey. What are you up to?”

“At present, I’m buying paint,” he told him. “Are you still with your mates?”

“Yeah, we’re having a family emergency.”

“Huh. I’m intrigued.”

“One of our friends got himself into a…situation. We’re strategizing.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It will be.”

“Good,” Harry said. There was a pause, and Tom waited, listening to the sounds of Harry mumbling to himself as he probably searched the paint selection. “Bloody hell. I’m going to have to mix it.”

“What?”

“Paint. Your eye color. Probably your hair. I can’t find anything.”

“Ah.” It hadn’t occurred to him that Harry would be painting him in color. The charcoal sketches obviously weren’t. There was something oddly…intimate about Harry trying to find his eye’s precise shade of blue. Tom never liked when people fussed over his hair, but he didn’t mind the thought of Harry doing the same.

He was such a goner.

“Listen,” Harry said, “I’m going to a club opening tonight with a mate. He’s the DJ. Come with.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m with my mates, remember?”

“They’ll understand.”

Tom sighed. “I can’t, Harry. Not without them.”

Harry hesitated long enough that Tom had to make sure he didn’t hang up.

“Which ones?” Harry asked after a moment.

“Aneurin, Jack, and Fionn.”

“And you’re sure that you won’t come without them?”

“Postive.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “Bring them, too. I’ll get you all on the list.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well. I guess I can ask them.”

“Cheers,” Harry said. “I’ve gotta check out. The girl behind the counter is giving me a dirty look—alright, love, I’m almost done, yeah?—let me know if you’re all, um, coming.”

“Okay. Bye,” Tom said, smiling, before he ended the call. The hallway was empty, the groceries Tom left gone, and he pushed open Aneurin’s door, which they left cracked for him. Similar to Jack’s house, Aneurin’s flat was a mash up of his and his two other flat mates’ personalities. Unlike Jack’s house, it was infinitely messier, and Tom was starting to wonder why they agreed to do this at Aneurin’s.

“Good talk?” Aneurin asked as he unpacked the shop.

Tom shrugged, looking around the living area. “Jack hasn’t come back?”

Aneurin shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well,” Tom said, “Harry asked if I wanted to go somewhere tonight. With him. All of us actually.”

Fionn stopped unloading the dishwasher and stared at him. “Go where?”

“To a club,” Tom said. “His friend is the DJ.”

“We’re not doing that,” Fionn said flatly.

Aneurin glared at him. “Fionn.”

“What? We’re not. We don’t _go to clubs_.”

“I know,” Tom sighed, “but Harry asked. You guys wanted to meet him, didn’t you?”

“That’s why we’re making him dinner!” Fionn said angrily, throwing his arm out towards the roast that one of them put in a bowl. “Tonight isn’t about you or your boyfriend, Tom. It’s about fucking Barry’s relapse.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t—I didn’t say that it was.”

“We know that,” Aneurin said, throwing a dirty look in Fionn’s direction. “I’ll go with you, Tom, if you want to go.”

“Go where?” Jack asked as he walked in, frowning at them. “I finally got ahold of Barry. He’s at Joe’s watching the match. He’s going to stay the night, but he’ll be here tomorrow. We’ll talk to him then after dinner.”

“Did you tell Joe?” Tom asked.

Jack sighed, scratching the scruff that lined his jaw. “Yeah. He’s guna keep an eye on him. He said he’d try to look through his bag whenever Barry falls asleep. So. That’s what we have to work with right now.”

“Then we can go to the club,” Aneurin said, grinning at Tom. “Harry invited us out.”

“Harry, is it?” Jack asked as he turned to Tom. “Which club?”

“Not sure,” Tom said. “He said it just opened.”

“Really,” Jack said, his voice a little off. “Okay. I’m going.”

Fionn’s mouth fell open. He probably assumed Jack would be on his side, that the last place he wanted to be was at a club. To be fair, Tom assumed the same. “Jack, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Jack said without taking his eyes off of Tom. “I’m very serious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, we go clubbing. 
> 
> Tumblr -- mymoonandstyles.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys night out?

THURSDAY – 9 Days

 

As soon as they stepped into the club, Tom started to regret his decision. It started when he texted Harry shortly after Jack said he would go, and Harry responded with the name of the club and the address but nothing else (Tom was doing a valiant job at not overthinking it). Jack was quiet in the Uber to the club, even quieter than Fionn who was staging a silent protest in the front seat. He almost felt bad for forcing his friend to come, especially when they were engulfing the sweat, smoke, and stale beer smell that clung to the air.

His friends split up before Tom could stop them. Jack stalked off, craning his neck to see over the many bodies like he was searching for someone already, while Aneurin went to get the first round of shots since he was the only one that continued to be optimistic despite their collective bad mood. Fionn trailed behind Aneurin, looking even paler than usual under the flashing beams of light, a gloomy specter amongst the debauchery. The dance floor was at the very back of the club, which was just another converted warehouse similar to Harry’s studio, and the DJ’s booth looked over the room in a loft that looked ill equipped for holding so much. All Tom could make out from above was a shock of blonde hair and pale arms waving in the air to the music.

Tom wedged himself between the gyrating bodies, which formed a wall of sweat and limbs and debauchery. His muscles loosened, and his hips started to move, picking up the rhythm and letting it guide him. He flipped a switch inside of his head, and all of the Bad Thoughts started to fade away as the music took over. When he opened his eyes, two girls that were dancing together next to him turned their bodies towards his and smiled, opening their arms and gesturing for him to join them. With a grin, he took both of their hands and allowed them to pull him in. The girl with the pink hair dropped low and slowly moved back up his body, trailing her hands up the length of him while her friend moved behind him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gave himself back over to the music, laughter bubbling up his throat. He was so tired—tired of the expectations and the uncertainty and the bad memories that were always threatening to suffocate him—but he didn’t have to be tired right now. _This_ was why he continued to hide from his friends, who he hated to hide to, and why he snuck away those Friday nights. Tom would be selfish for this feeling; he would do anything to be able to forget.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Tom opened his eyes and turned around as the girls stepped back, both looking from Tom to Harry, who stood in front of him. His hair was pulled back into a bun and his cross necklace dangled over a black t-shirt that hugged his chest. He looked the same but completely different under the strange, pulsating lights, and Tom was finding it hard to breathe. The girls exchanged a knowing look.

“He’s all yours,” Pink Haired said as she winked at Tom. She grabbed her friend’s hand, and they disappeared into the crowd of dancers before Tom could ask their names.

Harry moved closer to Tom, so close that Tom had to tip his head back to look at him. “Sorry it took me so long to find you.”

“S’okay,” Tom said. Someone jostled him forward but he caught himself before he could fall into Harry. “Bit crowded.”

“Saw you dancing,” Harry said, his mouth curling into a smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Do you use that on all the boys?”

“Only the gorgeous ones.”

Tom snorted, though he was pleased despite the cheesiness. “Actually, my mate went to buy a round of shots. We should go find them. Say hi.”

Harry looked away, his forehead creasing in worry. Tom held his breath as he waited for Harry to respond, watching his bright green eyes scan the club.

“Okay,” he said as he turned back to Tom, smiling tightly. “Lead the way.”

Tom hesitated for a second before he grabbed Harry’s hand, careful not to lace his fingers through Harry’s; he was feeling bold tonight but not _that_ bold. When they neared the bar area—Harry was much better at getting through the crowd with his broad shoulders than Tom was—Tom craned his neck to see over all the heads for a familiar face.

Harry pointed to the right of the bar. “They’re over there.”

Tom’s brows pulled together. “I never showed you what they looked like.”

Harry stopped suddenly and pulled Tom close, close enough so his mouth was at Tom’s ear. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s important that you know that before—I need you to know that I didn’t want this to happen this way.”

“Harry, what are you talking about—“

“Tom!” Aneurin said, waving his arm in the air to get their attention.

Tom glanced at Harry, who looked like he was stealing himself for battle. “Aneurin’s really nice, I swear—“

“I fucking knew it.” Tom turned around to find Jack with those murder eyes he got when Scotland was losing to England. Typically, Tom made it a rule to avoid Jack when he was like this, at least not without a couple pints in him, but clearly he wasn’t getting a choice in the matter.

“Jack,” Harry started to say, but Jack was faster.

“I can’t believe you.” He was practically yelling now, a feat considering the volume of the music. “ _Why would you do this_?”

“I didn’t know when I met him,” Harry insisted. Tom realized then that he was still holding his hand. He tried to shake his hand free, but Harry wouldn’t let go. “Listen—Jack, _listen_ to me. How was I meant to know that?”

“But you did eventually figure it out?” Jack shot back. Quicker than anyone could react, Jack shoved Harry backwards, and the force of it was enough that Harry dropped Tom’s hand. “Then what? What did you plan on doing to him?”

“ _Doing_ to him—Jesus Christ, Jack. It’s—you _know_ I’m not involved with _that_ anymore—“

“—No, I don’t fucking _know_ that—“

“Someone explain to me what the hell is going on,” Tom interrupted, stepping between Harry and Jack before Jack could add another bruise to Harry’s collection. He couldn’t stop staring at his friend’s hands, which were balled into fists at his sides. He knew Jack wasn’t afraid to knock someone out, and he felt very strongly that Harry was not one of these people.

The muscle in Jack’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t move Tom out of the way. “Harry is my roommate.”

“Your—your roommate.” Everything that he knew about Harry and everything that Jack’s said about his roommate tried to fit together inside of his head, and he was left with a sick, twisting feeling inside his stomach that snaked its way to his lungs and made it hard to breath.

“I didn’t seek you out,” Harry said suddenly, looking only at Tom. “I promise. I didn’t realize until I started talking to you that you were Jack’s Tom—“

“And you didn’t say anything?” Tom asked. Between the throbbing bass, the hot room, and the pleading look Harry was giving him, Tom was starting to feel lightheaded. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just _ask_ if you thought the Jack I was talking about was your roommate?”

“Because I didn’t know what he’s said to you about me,” Harry said. “I didn’t want your opinion of me to be ruined by Jack complaining about his shite roommate.”

“You just wanted to draw me,” Tom said hoarsely. Oh God. “You said so yourself.”

“Are you serious?” Jack asked. “Did you think you could just _use_ him?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry insisted, more to Tom than Jack, who was trying to move around Tom to get to Harry.

“ _Jack_ ,” Aneurin barked, appearing next to Tom. “You have to calm down.”

“He’s right. Chill out, Jack,” Tom warned. The bouncers that walked the perimeter of the club were already eyeing them, and Harry didn’t need to add yet another bruise to his face. This was already feeling like an episode of Geordie Shore, and Tom just wanted this night to end. “I want to talk to him. Alone.”

Jack’s nostrils flared. “Absolutely not.”

“Last I checked, Jack, you weren’t my father,” Tom said sharply. He turned to Harry, who was watching Tom warily, and asked, “Is there anywhere we can talk that’s quieter?”

Harry’s eyes flickered to Jack before he nodded. His hand brushed Tom’s, like he wanted to take it again, but Tom stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket. He wasn’t ready for that yet. It felt too much like forgiveness, and Tom learned a long time ago that he had to ration his second chances.

Tom could feel his friends staring at him as he followed Harry to the door off to the side of the bar. The bass dimmed to a low hum as Harry shut the door behind them, and if he weren’t so confused right now, he would have thanked him for it. He sat on the leather couch and crossed his arms over his chest.

Harry leaned forward and swiped the skull figurine off of the desk to fiddle with. “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m thinking I know why your face looks like that now,” Tom said. “You’re the reason Jack went MIA earlier this week.”

_He got into a little trouble with one of his old mates, and he needed help so I stepped in before it could escalate into something physical—well, more physical._

_Before anyone could_ die.

Unconsciously, Harry rubbed his palm over his bruised cheek. “I’m sorry about Fionn. I never wanted that to happen, especially not because of me.”

A small part of him did want to put some of the blame onto Harry—but much like he couldn’t bring himself to blame Jack, Harry couldn’t have known what his actions would’ve set into motion.

“Jack said you’re never home because of the parties,” Tom continued, his thoughts working faster than he was capable of voicing them, “but it’s because you’re always at your warehouse. Right?”

He nodded as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing more of his biceps. Tom tried not to watch. “The parties are bloody ridiculous though. It’s like every night.”

“When did you know?” Tom asked. “About me, I mean.”

“I thought you might’ve looked familiar,” Harry told him, “but I didn’t _really_ know until you said he was Scottish.”

“And you didn’t want to say something?”

“I did, but I couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Why is that, though?” Tom pressed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Harry, I don’t care to be lied to. What kind of friendship can we have—?”

Harry arched a brow. “You still want to be friends?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Tom said, “I think it’s bloody weird that you lied to me about knowing Jack. But—but I get it. I think. You had it all wrong though. Jack has never said anything about you that would make you irredeemable. It’s not in his character.”

“Yeah, right. Jack hates me.”

“That’s not true,” Tom argued. For whatever reason, he felt like it was extremely important that Harry understood that. “He wouldn’t have ditched us to help you if he didn’t like you. He said you weren’t a bad guy. Honestly. He _wanted_ us to meet you.”

Harry pursed his lips, and Tom had to wonder what Jack has said to Harry in the past to make him think he hated him so much. “And what was your impression of Jack’s delinquent roommate then?”

“I, uh—I actually went into your room,” Tom admitted sheepishly. “There was a party one night, and I wasn’t in the mood so I went upstairs. I was going to move in but my parents weren’t going for it so you ended up with the room. I was curious.”

“Tom,” Harry said, smirking, “I’m feeling a little violated.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. You’re a shite decorator.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

“There’s always time to hang a poster.”

“You’re not very mad,” Harry said. “I thought you were going to go in on me.”

“Me, too.”

“Glad you’re not.”

“Me, too.”

“What are the chances Jack won’t be?” Harry asked, tugging on his bottom lip.

He didn’t think Jack would be anything other than angry, but he wasn’t going to tell Harry that when he looked so hopeful. “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

When Tom went back into the club, he spotted Jack sitting at the bar and made his way over to him. As much as he wanted to be mad at his friend, he understood why he was angry just like he understood why Harry felt the need to lie. Elbows jabbed his sides as he made his way over, and he was jostled into the bar by a couple that were dancing a little too enthusiastically. He shot them a look before shoving the guy off of him.

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he approached Jack, straightening his jacket. “People are insane.”

Jack looked over Tom’s shoulder before looking him in the eyes. “Where’s Styles?”

“He left,” Tom said. “Where’s everyone?”

Jack nodded to the dance floor. “Fionn wanted to dance. Aneurin’s appeasing him. I think he’s avoiding me a little, too.”

“We need to talk,” Tom said, moving closer to Jack to be heard over the music. At this point, Harry was probably at the DJ booth telling his mate he was bowing out for the night.

Jack drained the rest of the amber liquid in the glass he was holding. He slammed it back down on the counter before turning to Tom. “You’ll hurt him, Tom.”

 _That_ wasn’t what he expected to hear come from Jack’s mouth.

Tom’s head jerked back as if Jack slapped him. “I’m sorry, what?”

"Stay away from Harry,” Jack said. “It's for the best for everyone involved. He’s not made from the same stuff. All you’ll do is hurt him. He doesn’t need more people in his life hurting him.”

"You don’t know anything about that.”

“You don’t think I know? I live with him, Tom. I know more about Harry than you do. You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Then enlighten me, Jack,” Tom said flatly.

“He was in a bad way,” Jack said, “and the last thing he needs is a reason to relapse.”

“Why would I in any way wish to bring him down?”

“Because you can’t help it just like Harry can’t help his own issues from coming back up again.”

“Is that what you think I am then?” Tom asked, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “I don’t need to hear this. I’m going home.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Wait—“

“I can’t do this right now,” Tom said as he turned away. He needed to get out of this club, away from these people. He didn’t know what Jack thought he was going to do to Harry, but he didn’t want to sit there and hear about how _little_ his best mate thought of him right now.

He found Harry still by the DJs booth, shouting up at the blonde DJ that Tom spotted earlier. He tugged on his shirt to get his attention. “Hey.”

Harry looked down and smiled at him. “Hey,” he said, taking his hand. He pulled him a little further away from the booth so the speakers weren’t at their ears. “I thought you were leaving with your mates—“

He didn't want to tell Harry what Jack said, terrified that maybe he'll think he's right. “I don’t want to be with them right now.”

Harry’s brows pulled together but he nodded. “Okay. Do you want to meet Niall? And then we can go somewhere.”

The last thing Tom wanted to do was meet someone when he felt like this, but he could see that Harry wanted him to. He forced a smile. He’d had to do worse when he felt much worse before. “Yeah. I’d love to meet him.”

“Brilliant—Niall!” Harry pulled Tom back to the booth and waved his hand over his head to get his mate’s attention. With his free hand, he gripped the railing of the stairs. “Niall, I want you to meet someone!”

“Oi, get up here then,” Niall called down. He pulled the massive headphones off of his head and grinned as Harry led Tom up the metal stairs. He held a hand out to Tom. “You must be Tom. H, you didn’t do ‘em justice.”

Tom shook his hand and smiled. His accent reminded Tom of Barry’s, which instantly made Tom warm to him. “The music’s been great. I don’t frequent many clubs so maybe my opinion isn’t the best though.”

“Then we’ll have to meet again under different circumstances, ay?” Niall grinned. He had a fantastic grin—infectious and genuine and kind. Tom couldn’t help but smile in return despite his sour mood.

Harry looked from Niall to Tom, a funny expression on his face. “Definitely. We’re off now, Niall. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“After noon please,” Niall said as he put back on the headphones. To Tom, he said, “Man’s a nutter, he is. Wakes up at 7 in the bleeding morning and shows up at my flat to drag me to breakfast.”

“He exaggerates,” Harry said, but his cheeks were pink. “That’ll be enough now. Thanks, Niall.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Tom smiled as Harry tried to drag him away.

Niall winked. “See you soon, mate.”

           

* * *

 

Going back to Harry’s was out of the question, and Tom wasn’t sure if he was willing to risk Harry coming back to his, so they ended up back at the warehouse. While Harry went to get them something to drink, Tom walked around the artwork, which only seemed to multiple since he’d last been there.

Unconsciously, he found himself at Harry’s desk, where a sketchbook had been left open. He stepped closer, peering over the page. The sketch wasn’t in charcoal like the others one but in graphite pencil, and it wasn’t nearly as rough as Tom expected them to be considering how fast Harry was producing them.

He looked up as Harry came down from the stairs, carrying two massive bottles of water in one hand. “When did you do this?”

“Earlier today. I was trying to work from memory,” Harry explained, handing Tom a bottle of water. “Is Jack still trying to get ahold of you?”

Tom nodded. As soon as they left the club, Jack started to blow up Tom’s phone with calls and messages, asking where he was, if he was okay, if they could talk. It was a testament to how bad Jack must have felt that he was trying this hard, when usually his M.O. was to give everyone as much space as he thought they needed. He knew eventually he’d need to talk to Jack—what with the stupid dinner that Aneurin planned and the situation with Barry that still needed to be handled—but he wanted to pretend for a little longer that maybe Jack was wrong—that maybe Tom wouldn’t mess this all up before it even began.

He pointed to the staircase Harry had just come down from. “What’s up there anyway?”

Harry’s mouth curled into a half smile. “Let me show you.”

The stairs creaked terribly as Tom followed Harry up the steps, and he gripped the railings with white knuckles. Once he reached the top, he paused. Unlike the ground floor, which was very much still a warehouse, the first floor had completely been converted from an office space into a living area. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, but it didn’t matter; Tom’s eyes went right to the pull out sofa, which Harry was lounging on now, staring up at Tom with that lazy grin of his.

“Cozy,” Tom said finally.

“I make do,” Harry smirked. “You know, I was thinking about something.”

“Oh?”

“You said your parents wouldn’t let you live in the house, and at the moment, I’m not that keen on living in the house either.”

“Jack shouldn’t—“

“You stay in my room,” Harry said. “Whenever you want. I sleep here most nights anyway. I was barely home all last week as it was.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Harry, I can’t.”

“It’s paid through the year,” Harry told him. “I’m just wasting the money.”

“My room is paid through the year, too,” Tom pointed out.

“Yes, but how much do you care about wasting your parents’ money?” Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Fair point.”

“Think about it. Don’t spend every night there, but the nights when you need it.”

Tom wasn’t sure what to say—not because he wasn’t thankful for Harry’s offer, but because he didn’t understand how Harry _knew_. “What do you know about what I need?”

“I can see it in your eyes,” Harry told him. “You’re barely keeping it together sometimes. But you do it. For your parents. For your mates. For me when I make you sit still for hours.”

“I don’t mind doing that.”

“I know you don’t,” Harry said, “but you didn’t have to agree in the first place.”

“I think my reasons for agreeing had less to do with my altruism and more to do with other factors.”

Harry’s cheek twitched, but he managed to keep his face neutral. “What does that mean?”

Tom shook his head, stifling his own smile. “I like you, Harry. You’re the most confusing person I’ve ever met, but I like you.”

“Good,” Harry said, grinning that crooked grin of his, “because I’ve been waiting for you to say that for _ages_.”

“Shut up,” Tom as he slipped off his shoes. He rested his knee on the edge of the bed, and Harry stared up at him expectantly. “Wait.”

Harry’s brows pulled together. “What?”

“I don’t—I—“ He took a deep breath, trying to bring down his speeding heart rate. He’s only known Harry for a handful of days, and the next words out of his mouth were words his friends weren’t even privy to, “My last boyfriend wasn’t…the nicest, and I’m not ready for—for anything like that—“

“Hey,” Harry said, sitting up straighter. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Tom. Okay? Never.”

Reluctantly, Tom nodded.

“Come here,” Harry said as he opened his arms. He crawled up the bed to Harry, who wrapped Tom up in his arms and gently eased him down onto the thin pillows. “One day, I’m going to hold all of your secrets but not today.”

Tom brushed his lips across Harry’s arm, goosebumps trailing in their wake. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my muse,” Harry said, and Tom could feel his smile in his hair. “We’ll deal with it all in the morning.”

A part of him wanted to wake Harry up and tell him everything—everything that he’s held in, even when his mates tried to get him to talk, or when his parents sent him to the psychiatrist after it all happened. But he didn’t want to ruin this moment. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to be able to recall every detail of this with Harry—the smell of him on his sheets, now wrapped around Tom, and the feel of his warm chest pressed against Tom’s back. There was something mad about how quickly things were happening between them, and while the thought of being on the outs with Jack made him sick, Tom felt…happy. Happier than he’s allowed himself to be since everything that happened last year.

It didn’t occur to Tom until he was drifting off to sleep that Jack asked Harry what he planned to do with Tom before he found out about the painting. In the heat of the moment, Tom was more focused on figuring out why Harry lied, and then he was too upset about what Jack said to him to ask what he meant by it.

Why would Harry want to use Tom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a rush out the door as I'm posting this so quickly I just want to say sorry for the delay! Thanks for everyone's patience as always.
> 
> Side blog: mymoonandstyles.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner party from hell?

FRIDAY – 8 days

 

The first thing he registered was that it was too hot. He tried to shift himself to get more comfortable, but when he tried to move his leg, he realized there was a longer, thicker leg thrown over his lower body. His eyes flew open, and Harry was there, still sleeping, pressed against his side.

Intrigued, he wiggled his arm free. Lightly, he touched his fingers to Harry’s jaw, which was already dotted with dark blonde stubble. He trailed his fingers up his jaw to his cheek, running his thumb along Harry’s cheekbone. At first glance, Harry looked unapproachable and harsh, but in reality, he was the complete opposite. He was gentle. Observant. With the black clothes and tattoos, no one gave him the opportunity to show that side of him, but it was still there.

Abruptly, Harry’s eyelids fluttered opened. A lazy smile crept up his face as his eyes searched Tom’s face. “Mornin’. Been up long?”

“Not too long,” Tom told him. “I don’t suppose there’s a functioning kitchen here, too?”

“No such luck,” Harry said into a yawn, turning his face away from Tom so he wasn’t blowing his morning breath in Tom’s face. He glanced at the watch he still wore on his wrist. “Hm. We can go out and grab something if you’d like.”

“Nah, I’ve got class,” Tom said before throwing the thin sheet off of his body. He slipped out of bed, evading Harry’s hand that threatened to pull him back in. “I mean it, Harry. I can’t stay.”

Harry pouted his lips. “I’d skip class for you.”

“I have a feeling you’d skip class for anyone,” Tom snorted as he bent down and grabbed his shoes. “Walk me out?”

“Wait.” The bed groaned when Harry got to his feet and walked around to where Tom was standing. With one hand, he reached out and cupped the back of Tom’s neck while the other rested on Tom’s hip. Tom’s gaze dropped to Harry’s mouth, which hovered inches away from his now.

He lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s. “Yes?”

“I’m not a one-night kind of guy,” Harry said softly. His fingers curled into the hair at the back of Tom’s neck. “And I was kind of hoping last night meant something more.”

Tom put his hands on Harry’s chest, which was strong and broad under his palms, just like he imagined. “Is this your weird way of asking me to be your boyfriend, Harry?”

“Is that your weird way of saying you will be?” Harry teased, lowering his head so he could press a kiss to Tom’s cheek. “Tom?”

Tom turned his face and caught Harry’s mouth before he could pull away. He moved his hands to cup either side of Harry’s face to angle his head better and pressed himself against him, his body melting into Harry’s. His lips were softer than Tom expected but firm, taking control and setting the pace. He nipped Tom’s bottom lip before he pulled away, resting his forehead against Tom’s.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, a little breathless.

Tom brushed his nose against Harry’s. “Definitely.”

 

* * *

 

After he promised to be back later to pick up Harry, he left to catch the first bus back to his room to quickly grab his things. He wasn’t keen on going back in the clothes he wore the day before, especially since people very well might remember, so Harry lent him an oatmeal-colored jumper that he had at the warehouse. The sleeves were far too long for Tom, and he had to cuff them three times, only to still have them hang a little past his hands. Despite the bad fit, Tom hoped Harry knew he was never getting this jumper back.

Now, as he sat in his first lecture, he turned his face into his shoulder, catching a whiff of Harry’s smell that still lingered on the fabric. He could feel his classmates’ eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that they were judging what he wore or that his hair was a greasy, tangled mess on top of his head or the stubble that peppered his jaw. He didn’t care that he looked less than perfect because he was fucking happy.

When the professor dismissed them, he got to his feet and shouldered his bag. His phone was oddly quiet that morning, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder if Jack knew he spent the night with Harry despite his warning. While his classmates’ opinions didn’t quite matter to him, he couldn’t deny that Jack’s words still stung. The hours since their argument had given him a little clarity, however; he’d never purposefully hurt Harry, but he also had a feeling he didn’t have the full story.

Tom made his way down the sidewalk to the Austen building. His next lecture wasn’t for another hour, and he knew that Fionn was often in the small library inside between classes, reading over any of the old plays he could get his hands on. He wasn’t ready to talk to Jack yet, but if Jack was the one they went to with their problems, Fionn was the one they went to with their secrets.

“Hey,” Tom said as he approached the nook Fionn was hiding in. He set his bag down on the floor by the spare armchair and sat down. “Busy?”

Without looking up, Fionn turned the page. “Obviously. Nice outfit.”

Tom took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Not if you’re mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“You tell me,” Tom said, arching a brow.

“Fine,” Fionn said. “Do you realize how long Jack was trying to get ahold of you last night after you just left? Left the club that _you_ dragged us all to for your stupid, bloody boyfriend. Honestly, Tom, you just ditch your friends for a _guy_?”

Irritation flared in his stomach, heating his face. “Is that what you think happened?”

“You left,” Fionn said, pointing a finger at him, “and then didn’t even bother to tell us where you planned on going.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Tom said, “but I didn’t come here to fight. I wanted to talk about Jack.”

“Oh, Jack, who you pissed off and then ran away from—“

“Fionn, if you want to be mad at me, then fine, but don’t talk about that like you have any idea what happened.”

Fionn’s mouth thinned. “What about Jack?”

Tom was hesitant to tell Fionn outright what Jack said about Harry, especially considering his already hostile reaction to whenever he was brought up. It was already hard enough knowing that Fionn was always going to view Harry a certain way, and he didn’t want to add to his already skewed perception of him by letting him in on Tom’s anxiety. “He didn’t like the fact that I was with Harry. That’s all. Did he say anything to you?”

Fionn rolled his eyes, but Tom knew his fit was already over. He’s never been able to completely stay mad at Tom before, and now wasn’t an exception. “He wasn’t saying anything last night if that’s what you want to know. He was on his phone the entire time.”

“And before that? Have you heard him talk about Harry before?”

“No, he’s always been quiet about his roommates’ problems. You know that.”

“Nothing in passing?”

“Just that his roommate—Harry apparently—had issues with his old mates. That they weren’t good guys and he got caught up in some shit with them but he’s better now.”

So pretty much what Jack’s said to him. “Got it. Okay. Thanks. How’ve you been?”

“Are you really going to pretend like you care?” Fionn smirked.

“Enough with the attitude please,” Tom groaned. “You’re making me work too hard today. It’s barely 9.”

“What time are you going to Aneurin’s tonight?”

“After 8. Have you talked to Barry?”

“A bit. He met a girl.”

“And what about you?” Tom asked, nudging Fionn’s foot with his. “Anyone catch your interest?”

Fionn stared at him for a beat before he turned back to his book. “No. Not lately.”

 

* * *

 

Even though Harry was technically his boyfriend now, it didn’t stop the way his stomach tightened when he pulled up outside Jack and Harry’s house. The only reason he was picking Harry up here and not at the warehouse was because Jack was on campus, and Harry needed to pick up a nicer shirt—which really meant a shirt without paint on it—for dinner. Otherwise, Harry planned on avoiding his house like the plague, not convinced that Jack wasn’t going to cause him physical harm.

Tom fiddled with the heat settings while he waited, going over the preplanned speech in his head. After he spoke to Fionn, he decided to let go of whatever Jack said to him, or whatever he might’ve been implying. He was drunk. And Tom wasn’t going to let it ruin his relationship with Harry—especially not now that he’s resolved himself to tell Harry about why he was coming to the Arts College with him in the fist place.

“’lo,” Harry said as he got into the passenger side, leaning over to kiss Tom quickly before buckling. “I went to all my classes today. I think you might be a good influence for me—what are you wearing?”

“Tights,” Tom said, pulling out of the drive. For the first time since he started taking this class, he didn’t leave the dorm with his long overcoat to cover up. He thought it’d be a good opener.

Harry was still staring very pointedly at Tom’s thighs, which were encased in the black spandex-blend material. “And why are you wearing tights?”

“Did you not wonder why I’m going to the Arts College on Fridays?” Tom asked.

“Honestly,” Harry said, scratching his jaw, “I figured you were taking music theory or something.”

Tom snorted. “No. Definitely not.”

“So what then?”

“Why would I need tights to study music theory, Harry?”

“I dunno,” Harry said with a shrug. His hand inched over from his side to rest on Tom’s knee. “I don’t know all your kinks yet.”

“How about I show you?” Tom asked, his smile deepening when he heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath. “What I do at the arts college obviously.”

“Obviously,” Harry deadpanned. He didn’t call Tom a tease but his tone suggested he felt very much like Tom was being one.

Tom pulled up to a red light and glanced at Harry, who was _still_ looking at his legs. “Harry, for fuck’s sake. You slept next to me last night.”

“We were fully clothed,” Harry reminded him. “I mean I can see your muscle _through_ the fabric—“

“I get it.” He shifted in his seat, ignoring how much _tighter_ his tights were becoming.

“Can I watch you?”

“What? Watch me dance?”

“I’m curious now. I saw you at the club but you weren’t wearing _those_.”

“—You’ve got to get past the tights—“

“My point,” Harry said through a grin, “is that I want to see you in your element.”

“You can’t sit in on the class,” Tom said, “but I think I could arrange something. Soon.”

Harry leaned over to kiss his cheek before settling back into his seat, reaching for Tom’s hand. He squeezed Harry’s hand, ignoring the guilt that was starting to settle in his chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go; he wasn’t supposed to tell Harry that he danced and leave it at that. He meant to explain himself, to let Harry in. He should have told him _why_ he danced. Why he hid it. He should’ve…opened up more.

Maybe he could keep his secrets for a little longer. After all, Harry himself said he would wait before he had them all. It wouldn’t hurt anyone. They were new. It was too soon anyway, right?

At least, these were the things he told himself as he turned into the car park since he wasn’t opening his mouth to expound on this new revelation.

Before they got out, he brought Harry’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, earning a soft smile from Harry. Harry walked around the front of the car to meet Tom on the sidewalk. His messenger bag rested on his hip, his pink beanie pulled low over his head. Tom couldn’t help but notice that the pink of his hat was the same shade of his lips. Inside, Harry grabbed the lapels of Tom’s coat and pulled him in for one last kiss before they went their separate ways.

Tom hooked his coat on the rack with the rest of his classmates’ before he went to his spot at the bar to stretch. Henry, who was usually the first person there, was already on the other side of the studio practicing the routine they just learned with his wireless headphones in his ears. Tom stretched his hamstring while he watched, taking in the way his classmate danced. His body moved through the air like silk, elegant and sinewy and graceful. While Tom’s specialty wasn’t ballet, Henry lived and breathed it, and it was evident in how naturally he mastered each routine thrown at them. Tom would’ve envied him for it, but Henry reminded him too much of another dancer with his ash blonde hair and wiry frame. If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend that this dancer was here, that he wasn’t gone—

“Alright, bro?” Tom looked up as his friend Jasper sat down next to him on the hardwood floor. Like Tom, ballet wasn’t Jasper’s first choice but it was a requirement to move onto higher-level courses. “Henry’s going to get the lead again, I see.”

Tom nodded. “He deserves it.”

“Always does,” Jasper snorted. He pulled out his ballet shoes from his gym bag. “So hey, I saw your mate Barry the other day when I was visiting my brother. What was he doing down by the docks? Last place I thought I’d ever see one of your mates.”

Tom’s shoulders tensed. “Oh, I, uh, don’t know. I remember him saying he was interested in getting a, um, practical job.”

“He was with Felix Wilson though,” Jasper said. “That guy’s bad news.”

“Who is Felix Wilson?” Tom asked. He’s never even heard that name before. Barry’s dealer was some twat he met in one of his economic courses that thinks he’s a bigger deal than he is. Barney Something-Rather.

“Well, I met him at a party,” Jasper explained. “A friend of a friend of a friend. He’s practically the biggest supplier in town, isn’t he? I didn’t think Barry was into—“

“He’s not,” Tom said immediately. “It was probably just a coincidence.”

Jasper stared at him, an odd expression on his face, but didn’t push the matter. “Right. Okay. Big weekend plans?”

“Oh, uh, kind of,” he mumbled, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his tights. The instructor chose that moment to walk in, and Tom let out a breath.

Unfortunately, Tom was distracted throughout each exercise they transitioned into for the next two hours. He bumped into his partner, Charlotte, and stepped on her foot, and when it was time to lift her, he nearly dropped her on top of his head. He could feel his instructor’s eyes on him. He needed special permission just to be in this course since this wasn’t what he majored in, and he was clearly doing the exact opposite in proving he deserved to be there.

He was the first one out the door when they were dismissed, avoiding his instructor’s concern and Jasper’s incredulity. He slipped into a bathroom and stripped out of his shirt and tights, stuffing them back into his bag before he replaced them with a pair of jeans and Harry’s jumper. Outside, Harry was already sitting on the steps, an unlit cigarette between his fingers and his phone balanced between his shoulder and ear. He hadn’t realized Tom was standing behind him yet.

“I told you to drop it,” he was saying. “I’m not doing it anymore. I want nothing to do with it—no. I said no. Stay away from him, Lee. I fucking mean it. Bye.”

“Who was that?” Tom asked as Harry pocketed his phone.

Harry jumped, whipping his head around. “Tom! Hi! How was class?”

Tom ignored him. His focus latched onto the fear in Harry’s voice, hidden beneath a layer of bravado and contempt. He couldn’t stop staring at his bruise, which was barely starting to turn yellow now. Jack’s voice ran in a loop in his head, reminding Tom that Harry might not have walked away from it. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I’ve handled it,” Harry said as he got to his feet. He smiled but it was paper-thin, not quite reaching his eyes. “Are we ready then?”

“Yeah, okay.” As they walked back to the car park, he listened to Harry tell him about the project he was starting on—glass blowing—and then Tom told him a little bit about the new routine they were learning for the show. Before they went to Aneurin’s place, Tom stopped at a market and picked up a pack of beers—he would never kid himself into thinking his friends would appreciate a bottle of wine—while Harry changed in the car.

Harry was uncharacteristically talkative on the way to Aneurin’s, probably trying to feel out Tom’s mood, which was only getting bleaker as they got closer. This was already a doomed idea to start, but now they didn’t just have to deal with Barry but with Jack’s disapproval. After his conversation with Fionn, he was satisfied that his friend would behave tonight, but he was also confident that Fionn would do nothing to cut the tension.

“Hey,” Tom said as they walked up the steps to Aneurin’s building. He set the beers down and grabbed Harry’s hand, pulling him to a stop. “Before we go in there, I just want you to know that I’m in this. I don’t want Jack, or any of my other friends, to interfere with us.”

Harry’s mouth tugged into a small smile. “Me, too.”

“Good.” He pushed himself up onto his tiptoes and kissed him quickly. When he went to pull away, Harry’s hand came up and cupped his chin, keeping him in place. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into Tom’s mouth while his other arm snaked around Tom’s back, pulling him into him.

“We need to go in,” Tom whispered against Harry’s mouth, breathless. “They’ll be expecting us soon.”

He could feel Harry grin. “Okay. Did I tell you how much I like seeing you in my clothes?”

Tom drew in a shaky breath, feeling like a newborn fawn as his legs trembled under him. Thankfully, Harry kept his arm around him and kept him upright as he rung up to Aneurin’s flat. Harry had to take the beers from him, smiling to himself as he did. Tom couldn’t remember the last time someone elicited this type of physical reaction from him. He wasn’t even completely sure anyone ever did. With his last boyfriend, he had simply gotten used to having sex, rather than actively desiring it.

As they walked up the stairs, Harry kept his hand at the small of Tom’s back, and it was that single point of contact that Tom zeroed in on all the way up to Aneurin’s.

The door was opened and he could see the TV on in the living area. He paused in the doorway, Harry standing behind him, and rapped his knuckles against the opened door. “Lads?”

“Tom!” Aneurin exclaimed, popping up from behind the kitchen island. Tom realized he was wearing a frilly apron that he doubted belonged to one of his flat mates. “Jack’s in my room taking a nap, and Fionn’s picking up Barry. Did you want something to drink, Harry?”

Harry lifted the case of beers. “I’m good, mate, thanks. Where can I put these?”

“Over here.” Harry winked at Tom before he went over to the kitchen and stood by the fridge while Aneurin cleared space for him. The knot in Tom’s chest started to unfurl, and he was hit with a swell of appreciation for Aneurin—for wanting to do this, for giving up his own time, for accepting Harry without question. He left them to it and walked down the little hallway to where Aneurin’s bedroom was.

Shutting the door behind him, he walked over to the bed and poked Jack’s cheek. “Jack. Get up.”

Jack’s eyes snapped open. “What—“

“Listen,” Tom said, holding his hand up. “I don’t want to talk about what happened right now. I was talking to Jasper Hanover today, and he said he saw Barry at the docks with some guy named Felix Wilson.”

Jack’s brows furrowed, two strawberry blonde caterpillars hanging over his eyes. “I’ve never heard that name before in my life.”

“Jasper said he’s a bad guy,” Tom told him. “Jack, what the hell is he getting himself into? This isn’t like last time. Barney is an idiot but he’s harmless. He swiped the pills from his little brother. He wasn’t a bloody kingpin.”

“Jesus,” Jack said, sitting up. “What do we do?”

“I haven’t told Harry,” Tom said. “I didn’t want to bring it up while he was here. It’s Barry’s private business.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, which was mussed from sleep. “That’s fine. Fucking Aneurin’s stupid dinner party.”

“He’s really excited,” Tom said with a shrug. “It was nice of him to do it.”

“We’ll deal with it then,” Jack told him. “After dinner, take Styles out of here. We’ll sort Barry out.”

“Okay. Keep me updated.”

“I will.” He hesitated a beat before adding, “I’m sorry, Tom. I was drunk.”

Tom wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that he insulted Tom’s character because of the amount of alcohol in his system and not because he actually believed those things. The more he told himself these things, the sooner he hoped he’d believe them. “He asked me to be his boyfriend this morning. I really like him, Jack. I’m not going to back down because you ask me to. Not this time.”

“All I want is you to be happy.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared up at Tom through his lashes, looking as contrite as Jack could ever look. “Does this mean you’ll be staying at the house then?”

“We’ll see,” Tom said, remembering Harry’s offer. Now probably wasn’t the time to share that with Jack. Baby steps. “Shall we go back out there and see if Harry’s bolted yet?”

Jack nearly smiled. “It might be fun to spook Styles a little longer.”

When they walked back into the living area, Harry was setting the card table that they used for poker nights, and Aneurin was putting food onto platters and bowls. Tom went straight to Harry, who was bobbing his head to the Britney Spears song that was playing through the speaker perched on the entertainment center.

“I’ll help,” Tom said, holding his hand out for the napkins that Harry draped over his arm.

Harry moved closer to him until his chest was pressed against Tom’s arm. “I like Aneurin.”

“He’s easy to like,” Tom said, smiling. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Happy to,” Harry said. “Where are Barry and Fionn?”

“They should be on their way,” Tom said. He glanced at Jack, who was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to help Aneurin. “Why don’t we go somewhere after dinner? Just the two of us.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Really? They’d be okay with them?”

“Jack said we should,” Tom said, offering a bit of truth. “Think of it as a peace offering.”

“How big of him.”

“I told you he didn’t completely hate you.”

“Don’t I feel special,” Harry drawled before kissing the side of Tom’s head. “We’re being anti-social.”

“You love being anti-social,” Tom smirked, but Harry was right. They finished setting the table, a task that probably didn’t need two people, and wondered back into the kitchen with the others. It was starting to feel like the worst kind of double date with only the four of them, but Tom couldn’t deny that watching Harry avoid eye contact with Jack was extremely amusing.

It was another fifteen minutes before the intercom buzzed, announcing Fionn and Barry’s arrival. Aneurin went to let them in, and Harry reached over under the table for Tom’s hand. He didn’t know the details, but he was aware that Barry was having issues and those issues hurt Tom. He squeezed Harry’s hand, surprised with how grateful he was to have him there.

Fionn was the first one through the door, the hood of his yellow jacket over his head still. He nodded at Harry and Tom and made a beeline to the crate that Aneurin and his flat mates’ kept their alcohol on. Tom’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have the right to tell Fionn to slow down.

Everyone collectively seemed to be holding their breath as Barry walked in—except Fionn who was making a valiant effort of draining Aneurin’s gin. Tom glanced at Jack, who was sitting to his right and sizing up Barry, as if he expected him to be drugged up right this second. Harry cleared his throat.

“I’m Harry,” he said, leaning over the empty chair next to him to offer Barry his hand. “You’re Barry, right?”

“Ay,” Barry said with a grin, shaking Harry’s hand. “He _is_ fit, Tom. Good going.”

“Thanks,” Tom deadpanned as Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

“Alright,” Aneurin said, bringing over the roast. “Let’s eat. Jack, care to carve?”

“As long as it comes with a foot massage later, darling,” Jack said as he took the knife and tongs from Aneurin. Discreetly, Harry moved his chair a little closer to Tom’s. Tom had to stifle his snort.

Fionn plopped down in the chair opposite to Tom’s, still clinging onto his gin. “So. How’s the sex?”

Jack froze, the knife pressing down on their dinner as he stared open mouthed at Fionn.

“What the hell?” Tom asked.

Fionn’s mouth curved into a smile. “What? ‘M just wondering, mate.”

“Well don’t,” Tom said flatly. “Don’t ever wonder that.”

“You’d be surprised all the things I wonder.”

“I assure you I wouldn’t be.”

Harry looked from Tom to Fionn. “Am I missing something?”

“I think we all are,” Jack said.

“Everything looks great, Ni,” Tom said, swiftly changing the subject. The table was now covered in dishes of food—the roast, gravy, Yorkshire pudding, mash, peas, and carrots. The small flat now smelled homey and warm, full of the same scents that meant Sunday dinners and holidays spent with family. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Harry echoed. “I can’t even make soup.”

“I lived in France with my mum for a few years,” Aneurin told him. “There wasn’t a lot to do so we spent a lot of time in the kitchen—“

Barry’s ringtone cut him off, and all the boys turned to look at their friend, whose face was beat red. “Oh, um—“ He muted it and slid it off the table into his lap. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“We don’t mind if you want to take that,” Tom said pleasantly as he handed his plate to Jack. “Who was it anyway?”

“No one,” Barry told him. “Someone asking for notes.”

“Notes for what?” Jack asked.

“Just—just a class—“

“Obviously. Which class?”

Barry narrowed his eyes. “What’s with the interrogation, Lowden?”

“We’re just curious,” Aneurin said. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“We don’t see each other every day,” Barry mumbled.

“Yeah because you’ve been gone so often lately—“

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom peaked at Harry. His boyfriend, to his credit, was quietly cutting into his dinner, keeping his eyes on his plate while his friends went back and forth. Guilt prickled under Tom’s skin. Tonight’s motives went from being about including Harry into their group into interrogating Barry.

He leaned closer to Harry, his chin brushing his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Harry turned his head and smiled softly down at him. “’S okay. It’s like when I used to go to a mate’s house after school and they’d start to fight with their parents. At least the foods good.”

“We’ll try again,” Tom promised. “An even smaller group.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to where Fionn, who was nearly finished with the bottle now, was sitting. “That’s probably a good idea.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of dinner went by at a snail’s pace, and Tom had to utilize everything he’s ever learned from his mum’s dinner parties just to make it bearable. He smiled more and refilled glasses and cleared the table while Aneurin made tea. He threw out a topic when the conversation went into a lull, and he could see the urge to press Barry in Jack’s eyes. He changed the subject when Fionn tried to have another go at Harry, and he managed to keep Fionn’s plate full without him realizing to soak up some of that alcohol.

By the end of the night, he was absolutely exhausted, sagging into Harry as they stood by the front door. Jack talked Barry into staying to watch a football match, and he could hear them shouting at the TV while Fionn was passed out on the floor. Something inside of Tom tugged him towards his mates, willing him to stay with them, but another part of him—a part that was growing every day—stayed rooted in place next to Harry.

Harry extended his hand to Aneurin, smiling fondly. “This was brilliant. Thanks for having me.”

“We’ll do it again soon,” Aneurin promised, shaking his hand. “It was great to meet you.”

“Night, Ni,” Tom said.

Aneurin grinned. “Night.”

Harry handed Tom his coat. “Have a good one, man.”

They stepped out into the hall, hand in hand, neither of them speaking as they started down the stairs. Every once in a while, Harry would glance down at Tom, as if to make sure he was still awake, and Tom would squeeze his hand reassuringly. It was the oddest feeling, this. Despite his exhaustion, his heart squeezed in his chest every time he could feel Harry’s eyes on him. He’d never been…dotted on before. Yes, his mum tended to fuss, and he’s had his fair share of nannies, but all of that was to protect an image. While he loved his mum, her gestures always felt a little empty, a little removed. As if she was simply going through the motions of what a mother ought to be like rather than following any kind of maternal instinct.

Once they were back in Tom’s car, Harry in the driver’s seat, Tom angled his body to Harry. “I wanted to take you somewhere. Just us. Somewhere nice.”

“You’re tired,” Harry said, patting his knee. “There will be other opportunities. We have all the time in the world.”

“But I told you we could. You wanted to.”

“I want to spend time with _you_. I don’t care what we do.”

Tom pursed his lips. “You should. I don’t want to bore you.”

A short laugh escaped Harry’s mouth. “Love, I’m the most boring bloke you’ll ever meet. We can go back to the warehouse and you can go to bed. I can paint. We can stop by yours if you want to pack a bag.”

“Why don’t we go back to the house?”

“Because Jack will be at the house eventually, and I’ve had enough of Jack for one night.”

Tom frowned. “Harry.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, squeezing Tom’s knee. “I like your friends. I do. But Jack and I have our own relationship. It’ll take time to see each other in a different light. I’ll work on it.”

“Thank you,” Tom said as he placed his hand over Harry’s. Harry smiled at him before he started the car. It wasn’t a short drive back to the warehouse, and they filled it with idle chat, getting to know each other better in bits and pieces. He supposed a small part of him had been bothered that this was his boyfriend, and he didn’t even know his favorite color (“Pink,” Harry told him simply). As Harry spoke about mundane things, answering his little questions succinctly and easily, Tom slowly started to put together the puzzle pieces that made Harry Styles. He grew up with his sister and mum, who eventually remarried (“He’s a good man.”) He grew up listening to a range of music thanks to his parents (“Fleetwood Mac, Soundgarden, Pink Floyd, and Shania Twain”), and his first purchase when he got a part time job at a bakery was a professional paint set.

Harry was so focused on driving carefully that he didn’t notice that Tom deflected any questions that Harry threw back at him, and Tom was glad for it.

When they got to the warehouse, Harry practically carried Tom inside—less because Tom needed the help, Tom suspected, and more to do with Harry liking to hold him this closely. He wasn’t complaining. His new favorite place was that space in the crook of Harry’s neck. He felt Harry chuckle softly as Tom clung to him as they climbed the steps to the first floor.

“Careful,” Harry said as he sat Tom on the edge of the pull out. He crouched down and started to pull at Tom’s laces.

“I can take my shoes off,” Tom said, smirking but doing nothing to stop him.

Harry looked up at him through his lashes, his green eyes bright and amused. “Humor me. I like taking care of you.”

“Why?” Tom asked, leaning back on his elbows.

“Because,” Harry said, “it’s time someone took care of you.”

Tom stared up at Harry, and he was sure his face reflected how much he was feeling because Harry leaned forward and kissed him softly before he continued to undress him. There was nothing sexual about it, though Harry sucked in a sharp breath when he pulled Tom’s shirt off, and Tom had to keep his mouth shut or else he'd betray just how much this all meant to him. 

When Tom curled up next to him in bed, Harry pressed a kiss to Tom’s temple. In that moment Tom was hit with the knowledge that he had stumbled on something real here with Harry. If someone told him that the beautiful boy that sat next to him on the bus would end up being his boyfriend barely a week later, Tom would have laughed. He never would have expected Harry to be this gentle, this sweet, and he hoped desperately that this was real.

That he wouldn’t somehow mess it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me updating. 
> 
> The next week or so is a little hectic for me at school so not sure when I can update again. I hope you guys understand! 
> 
> Thanks as always. Your comments never fail to make me laugh/smile/snort.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weekend of firsts for Tom.

SATURDAY – 7 Days

 

There was a bomb in his bag.

It was placed there some time this morning when Harry and Tom were at breakfast, and Tom discovered it as he came back to his room to pack an overnight bag while Harry sat on his bed playing with his phone as he waited. He kept his face neutral when he realized what was now in his possession, and he knew that nothing good would come from hiding it. He knew, but it didn’t make him any more inclined to reveal it.

 

 **Father** : Bring your boyfriend next weekend. Your mother would like to meet him.

 

Tom wasn’t sure who told his dad that Harry was his boyfriend now, but he wasn’t even sure that it mattered. The only thing he was focused on now was what he would tell Harry—that his parents wanted him at the house, that he was expected to stay the weekend. That he was going to be subject to backhanded compliments and a level of passive aggression that only the posh and uppity could pull off.

There was another thing—probably a bigger thing—that Tom knew he had to tell Harry as well, but he couldn’t even think about that now.

Now, they were in Tom’s car driving to the countryside to a little bungalow that Harry goes to sometimes when he needs inspiration. There was something that was weighing down on Harry at school, and he told Tom he’d be MIA this weekend—unless Tom wanted to come away with him. Outside the car, the city bled into the country, as the houses grew further apart. The trees outnumbered the buildings soon, and it took seeing how much fuller and green everything was for Tom to miss home.

He didn’t go often, at least not as often as he was sure his parents would like. After everything that happened, Tom wasn’t ready to deal with the expectations that his parents thrust upon him. He didn’t want the new position, nor did he want it to happen the way it did.

The last thing he ever wanted was for it to happen the way it did.

“Hey,” Harry said, pulling him out of his thoughts, “could you change the song?”

Tom took Harry’s phone from where it rested in the center console. “Have something against John Legend?”

“It’s making me fall asleep,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “You could always talk to me, too. Keep my mind busy.”

Tom switched the song to a Britney tune that he knew Harry liked and set it back down. “Okay. Tell me what happened at school.”

He snorted. “I wanted _you_ to talk.”

“I’ll give commentary.”

“It’s not important—“

“Does it have anything to do with what you were on the phone about after school yesterday?” Tom asked, keeping his tone light.

Harry’s mouth pinched. “I didn’t realize you heard that.”

“I know you didn’t,” Tom said. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“It’s just—it’s nothing. Neither of those things are connected,” Harry said. “My professors are on my case for my final project, that’s all.”

“And the phone call?”

“I don’t have the best relationship with my old mates.”

“I’ve heard. What happened?”

“I moved out.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “They weren’t ready for me to move out.”

“So you fucked them out of rent money?” Tom asked.

“Jesus Christ, Tom,” Harry said, laughing nervously. “No. Of course not. I just—I told them I was leaving, and they weren’t happy about that. Lee—the bloke you heard me talking to—he pretty much ran the show. He’s very much about loyalty and being a _family_. Well I already have a family.”

“So now what? They want something from you?”

“I don’t know. I never know with them, which is why I had enough in the first place. I’m too old for that shit. I just want to paint.”

“But you’re happier now?” Tom asked. “Being away from them?”

Harry glanced at Tom, his mouth twitching. He reached over for Tom’s hand. “Yeah. I’m a lot happier now.”

“Smooth,” Tom said, though he smiled. “You’re always so smooth.”

“Sometimes I like to be rough,” Harry said, nipping Tom’s knuckle with his front teeth.

Tom’s stomach dipped but not unpleasantly. “I’d like to see that.”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed. “We’ll see what we can do about that then. Hungry?”

“A bit,” Tom said as Harry pulled into a filling station. According to the GPS, there was still an hour left in their car journey, and the pair took the opportunity to stretch their legs as they filled the car with petrol.

Tom wondered into the Sainsbury’s, which was empty besides the young cashier behind the counter. Tom smiled at them before he went to the back where the drinks were. Colorful bottles of energy drinks and overpriced water bottles stared back at him, the temperature dropping as he neared the fridges. He wrapped his arms around him as he debated whether he wanted a bottled coffee or a Robinson’s squash like when he was a kid and one of his nanny’s took him to polo. It was the only time he could have it since his parents weren’t with them.

He grabbed a bottle of squash and a bottle of Smart Water for Harry before moving onto the snacks. He wasn’t sure what Harry liked, so he grabbed a variety: granola bars, packs of nuts, chocolates that Tom grew up eating, Monster Munch, prawn chips, and a pack of digestives. He was over by the sandwiches when Harry found him, his eyes widening when he saw Tom’s basket on the floor by his feet.

“Love, there’s only two of us,” he said, poking Tom’s shoulder blade.

“I never get to eat this stuff,” Tom told him as he picked up two sandwiches. “Egg and cress or ham?”

“Corned beef,” Harry said, grabbing a different sandwich. “You do know you’re in uni, right? You can go to the store whenever.”

Tom shook his head. “Can’t risk it. What if someone saw me? It could get back to my father.”

Harry dropped his sandwich into the basket. “Who cares?”

“It’s his money,” Tom explained. “If he knew I was eating junk, he’d come sort me out. It’s not worth it. Most of the time I eat in the dining hall anyway.”

“These sound like a whole lot of excuses.”

“You don’t understand—you haven’t met them yet.”

Harry grabbed his wrist before he could move away. “You said yet.”

“Yeah, well.” He took a deep breath. He just had to do it. “Your presence has actually been requested for a dinner at my house next weekend.”

“I’m just going to all kinds of dinner parties now that I’m with you,” Harry said, though he seemed pleased.

Tom forced a smile. “Lucky you.”

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the bungalow on time like the GPS said, and Harry went to work on gathering wood for a fire later that night while Tom brought their things inside and started to unpack. Inside, the living area, kitchen, and bedroom were all in one area with a small washroom off to one side. It was small and cramped, with old furniture that smelled faintly of bonfires and buckets of paint strewed about, but Tom couldn’t imagine being anywhere else that weekend.

He tucked their bags under the bed and went into the kitchen, where they left the leftover snacks from the drive. After Tom’s confession, Harry proceeded to buy him all of his favorite snacks from his childhood, and they barely made a dent in all of the junk food. Once the cupboards were filled, Tom went back outside to where Harry was. His boyfriend waved when he saw him and gestured for him to come over to what seemed to be a hole in the middle of the yard.

“What is that?” Tom asked.

“Fire pit,” Harry explained.

Tom blinked at the fire pit, which seemed more like a meteor had hit the ground and this is what it left behind. “Ah.”

“It’s not fancy,” Harry said as he carefully arranged the logs, “but it’ll do if we want to use it this weekend.” He got to his feet and brushed his hands off on the back of his trousers, smiling broadly at Tom. “Settled in?”

He shrugged. “We might have to do a food shop though. There’s nothing for a proper meal.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Harry crossed the yard to where Tom stood, putting his hands at his hips. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the tip of Tom’s nose. “I’m glad you came with me.”

Tom wrapped his arms around Harry’s middle. “Me, too.”

Harry ran his hands up and down Tom’s arms, as if to warm him up. “Let’s go in. It’s been a while since I checked out the place.”

“There’s not much,” Tom said as they started back to the little house. Harry was practically bouncing as they walked up the path, his enthusiasm palpable. It seemed that the further they got from school, the lighter Harry became. Tom looked over at him, bemused. “You really like it here.”

“I like the fresh air,” Harry clarified as he opened the door for Tom. “I like the quiet. I like the greenery.”

“There’s greenery in the city,” Tom pointed out. “Parks and stuff.”

Harry smirked. “You can keep your parks, Glynn Carney. Don’t forget we grew up in the same area. I know you’re a country bumpkin at heart.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Tom said as he plopped down on the couch. He tucked his feet under his bum and rested his chin on the back of the couch as Harry rifled through one of the closets. “What are you looking for?”

Harry popped his head out. “Paint. I still had a lot the last time I was here.”

“We can always get more.”

“I spent a small fortune on these colors.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Um, I don’t think—“ Harry stopped abruptly and turned away. “You’re right. Forget about the paint. It's just money, right?”

Tom frowned as Harry slowly got to his feet and shut the door, walking not to where Tom was sitting but over to the bathroom. His face was blank, like it was when Jack was yelling at him. He didn’t say a word as he shut himself inside, leaving Tom to wonder what just happened.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath before he pushed himself off of the couch. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand that Harry was upset; it was the simple fact that he didn’t know how to not make it worse than it already was.

He leaned against the door, resting his head against the wood. He rapped a knuckle lightly against the door. “Harry.” When he was greeted with nothing but silence, he continued, “I’m sorry for whatever I said—“

The door swung open, and Tom stumbled forward. He would’ve hit the tiled floor if it weren’t for Harry, who put his hands out to grab him. “You should never apologize for something when you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.”

Tom lifted his face to Harry’s. “What—“

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked. “I’m going to head to the shop and grab some bits for dinner.”

“Did you want me to come…?”

“Nah. Stay,” Harry said, smiling. He patted Tom’s shoulder before walking around him. “I’ll be back soon.”

Tom was still standing outside of the bathroom when Harry grabbed his jacket and left. Tom’s keys still rested on the kitchen counter. He resisted the urge to go after him, fighting back his Very Tom Urges in favor of the Jack Lowden Method. Clearly, Harry didn’t want to talk right now, and clearly, Tom needed to figure out what he wanted to talk about in the first place.

He went over to the bed and climbed on, resting his head on one of the pillows. It was the paint. He knew it was the paint. And maybe it was the way he referred to the paint—as if it didn’t matter if Harry lost it, like it was that replaceable. And it was. To Tom. He never knew what it was like to worry about replacing his things. It was apparent in how indifferent he was to his car, which he admittedly could treat with a little better care considering most families don’t even make that much in a year.

With a groan, he scrubbed his hands over his face. He was such an idiot. An absolute arse. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and started towards the door, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he did. He grabbed his keys off the counter, hoping he could catch Harry quicker if he was driving.

He pulled open the door and stopped short. “Jesus Christ, Harry.”

His boyfriend nearly smiled. “Couldn’t do it. I don’t ever want to leave angry.”

“I’m sorry about what I said,” Tom said. “About the money. I know money’s important. I know it’s different for us. I shouldn’t have—“

Harry grabbed the edge of Tom’s sleeve and pulled him closer. “Tom. Stop. I know.”

“But I—“

“No. Don’t apologize.”

Tom pursed his lips. “But I was an arse.”

“You didn’t mean to be,” Harry shrugged. He leaned forward to kiss Tom’s cheek before taking the keys from him. “Come to the store with me. I’ll drive.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, after Tom helped Harry make dinner, they sat in front of the fire on a fur blanket that Harry found in the closest and a pile of pillows from the couch and bed. He had his arms wrapped around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s head rested in the crook of his neck. Every once in a while, Harry pressed a kiss to his collarbone absently as he read one of the books Tom brought with him.

Tom tugged at Harry’s hair, which he put up in a small bun when they were cooking. Strands had fallen out already, framing his face, but Tom preferred when it was all out. Harry lifted his face and smiled up at him.

“Need some help?” he asked before he raised his arm and pulled out the hair tie.

“Better,” Tom said as he started to run his fingers through the strands. “Have you ever considered cutting it?”

Harry tilted his head, like he needed to think about it. “I think if I had a reason to. It's just hair.”

“I’m quite attached to it,” Tom told him. “It suits you.”

“I’ll save it for you whenever I decide to chop it all off,” Harry said, patting Tom’s cheek. He rolled himself onto his stomach, facing Tom, his legs kicked up in the air like he was at a sleepover. “Would you still like me with short hair?”

“Yes,” Tom said without missing a beat.

Harry’s smile widened. “You really have a thing for me, huh?”

“Obviously.” It was more than a _thing_ , and it grew every day, every second that he spent near Harry.

Which was why this was only going to get harder the longer he waited to tell him.

He cupped his boyfriend’s cheek in his hand and leaned forward, pressing his lips to his. “I have to tell you something.”

Harry pulled back, furrowing his brows. “Weird time to do it, eh?”

“I told you that you were invited to dinner,” Tom said, “but there’s something about my family that I—“

“STYLES!” someone shouted from outside. “I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Harry looked at Tom, wide eyed and panicked before he scrambled to his feet and went to the door. “WHO IS IT?”

“It’s Jack, you bloody idiot,” Jack snapped. “Open the damn door. Or get Tom to do it if it’s too difficult—“

“Shut up, Jack,” Harry said as he pulled open the door. “Sorry I couldn’t understand you when you’re shouting like a lunatic. What do you want?”

“It’s Barry,” Jack said, pushing past Harry to get inside.

Tom sat up, his mouth pulled into a frown. “What about him?”

“He owes money,” Jack said. “A lot of it.”

Harry was still standing by the door. “Uh, I’ll just go out back. Let you, um. Talk.”

“Okay,” Tom said, watching Jack sit next to him on the floor.

Jack waited for the door to close before he said, “He dug himself into a hole. He’s starting to sell, Tom, to pay off his debt. He told us all about it last night. How he started taking pills again because he was having trouble staying up in class, but that absolute moron Barry told him he could connect him with someone who had harder stuff.”

“We have to tell his mum.” Tom felt like a truck had hit him. “Jesus Christ. We’re way over our heads with this one.”

“I’ll go over there,” Jack promised. “Better to be done in person. She’ll send him to rehab. He’ll never finish uni.”

“He can take courses online,” Tom said. “I looked into it. He can take the majority of his graduation requirements online so he won’t fall behind. I’ll email her the information.”

Jack rested the back of his head on the couch. “I just feel like we should’ve known. It’s happened before, you know? We should’ve seen the signs.”

Tom patted Jack’s leg. “We have our own lives, Jack. We can’t blame ourselves. Just like we can’t blame ourselves for what happened to Fionn.”

 

* * *

 

After Jack left, mumbling about having to drive all the way back as if one of them would beg him to stay, Harry came back inside, tugging his beanie off of his head. “Everything alright?”

“It will be,” Tom said as he watched Harry pull off his top.

He bunched it up in his hands and tossed it on top of his bag. “I wish I had mates like you. You’re all so involved in each other’s lives—“

"I’m sorry,” Tom said, “but I don’t want to be thinking about my friends while you’re undressing in front of me.”

He smirked. “Care to help?”

“Did you forget how to get your pants off already?” Tom asked. “You push the button through the hole and—“

Harry threw a pillow at him. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Nooo,” Tom said, laughing, as he closed the distance between them. Harry’s hands immediately found Tom’s waist and Tom’s arms wrapped around Harry’s middle.

Harry lowered his head to Tom’s and caught his lips. Kissing Harry felt like Tom was on borrowed time, like nothing should ever be this good and yet here he was. Their kisses turned rougher, and Harry rotated him towards the bed, his knees buckling until he was falling backwards.

They practically ripped the remainder of their clothes off and then Harry was hovering over him again, parting his legs with his knee. Breathlessly, he asked, “Is this okay?”

Tom nodded, quickly and emphatically, “Yes.”

Their bodies pressed against one another, skin on skin, and then Harry reached between them, stroking them together. The friction was enough to make Tom’s eyes roll back, a moan falling from his lips. He could feel Harry smiling against his neck, pleased as Tom drew in a ragged breath.

Tom knew that he wasn’t the only one affected; Harry’s chest rose up and down rapidly, as if he was running a marathon. Sweat started to glisten on his tanned skin, and he leaned over the bed to grab one of the grocery bags off of the floor.

“Romance,” he said before dumping the contents onto the bed.

Tom chuckled as he grabbed the box of condoms and used his thumb to open it while Harry took the bottle of lube. “No flowers for this guy. Just reasonably priced lubricant.”

Harry smiled widely before kissing Tom again, his mouth soft and gentle. One of his hands reached down and grabbed Tom at the back of his knee, bending his leg and moving it up against his chest, giving Harry better access. “All that dancing has made you bendy, Glynn Carney.”

Tom helped Harry roll the condom on, and Harry circled a finger along the edge of Tom’s hole. Tom gripped Harry’s biceps, his fingers digging into his skin as Harry replaced his finger with the tip of his dick, slowly easing into Tom and then pulling out gently before he could bury himself completely into Tom. He did this again and again, teasing Tom, gritting his teeth from the restraint.

“Tell me what you want,” he said breathlessly.

“You,” Tom practically moaned. “I want you.”

Harry grabbed a pillow from above Tom’s head and placed it under Tom’s so he was at a better angle. This time, when the head of his penis was at the entrance of Tom’s hole, he eased himself completely into Tom, groaning out Tom’s name as he did. Their labored breathing was the only sounds in the small bungalow as Harry pumped in and out of Tom, hitting that sensitive spot inside of Tom.

Tom gripped the bed sheets, his back arching as Harry picked up pace. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Tom’s, swirling his hips.

“Harry,” Tom breathed. “Oh God, Harry.”

“Hold on.” Slowly, Harry pulled out but before Tom could ask what he was doing, Harry’s hands gripped him firmly at the waist and he was being flipped over onto his stomach. He filled Tom again, holding onto his hips as he rocked into Tom. “Is this good?”

“Mm,” Tom managed to get out. “Faster.”

Harry pressed a kiss to the small of Tom’s back before obliging him. “I’m not going to be able to—“

“I want to feel you finish.”

“I—“

“ _Harry_.”

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, his fingers digging into Tom’s skin but not unpleasantly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“

He reached around and started to pump Tom’s erection to the same rhythm he pumped into Tom. The sensation was too much for Tom, whose head was spinning now. Before either of them could finish, Harry was flipping them over again—this time with him on the bottom as Tom hovered over him. He eased himself onto Harry, his head falling back, and he rode Harry while Harry continued to beat him off.

They found release together with Tom coming on Harry’s abs. Harry pushed himself onto his elbows and cupped Tom’s jaw, kissing him deeply before he got out of bed to clean himself off. Tom curled up on his side while Harry was in the bathroom, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. The date stared up at him, mocking him. A week from now was the one date that always seemed to come up sooner than he was ready for it, the rest of the year a countdown to this one day.

A reminder of what he lost.

The bathroom door opened and Harry emerged, a soft smile on his beautiful face. He climbed into bed and wrapped his arm around Tom, pulling him closer. He brushed his lips under Tom’s ear, making a contented sound at the back of his throat.

“Hi,” he said softly.

Tom turned his face and looked up at Harry, willing his voice to keep steady. “Hi.”

As Harry drifted off to sleep still wrapped around him, Tom promised himself that he’d tell him tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo sorry for how long it's been since I last updated so I posted this as soon as I finished (which is why there might be typos, etc). The next update hopefully won't take me as long, but uh, don't hold me to that...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter?

Monday – 5 Days

 

Tom was surprised just how much he didn’t want to go back to the city after the weekend away with Harry. Yesterday was easily Top 5 of Tom’s favorite days. They spent the morning lounging around together in bed before hunger finally forced them to get up. After they finally found his supplies under the bed, Harry painted everything—the forest outside, the bungalow, Tom. He did so many new paintings of Tom: abstract, impressionism, realism, and romanticism. Tom had no idea that one person could be capable of so many different styles but Harry wasn’t anything like Tom expected.

The hardest part about going back was the fact that he had gotten used to spending the entire day with Harry. After he dropped him off at the house, he could feel that pull, urging him to turn around and go get him. As someone who valued his independence, Tom was unnerved by this latest development.

He pulled up to Barry’s place, noting that Fionn’s bike was locked up out front. After classes were over, they all agreed to go over to Barry’s and help him back his room. Jack talked to Ms. Keoghan, and as they all expected, she was taking him back home. Tom grabbed his bag, which had his laptop inside, and took the steps two at a time.

“It’s Tom,” he said into the intercom and immediately he could hear the little buzz and click that meant the door unlocked. Unlike Aneurin, Barry’s flat was on the first floor, and as soon as Tom walked inside the building, he could hear his mates’ voices floating down the hall.

“Tom!” Barry greeted as Tom approached the doorway. He was carrying two bags of rubbish, slung over his shoulder like Santa. “How was class?”

“Fine. I brought my laptop,” he said, holding up his bag. “We can pick your classes for next term.”

Because it was in the middle of term, Barry’s mum planned on taking him to and from all of his classes until the break and then Barry would take classes online while he was in rehab. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but the boys planned on helping her as much as they could. On Wednesdays, their last lecture was at the same time and Tom promised to take Barry home for her while Jack promised to take the bus with Barry any other time she was unable to get him.

Tom squeezed his mate’s shoulder before going inside, nodding at Fionn, who was sat at the dining table with his schoolbooks.

Jack appeared in the hallway, holding a box labeled _clothes_. “Tom, good. Where’s Styles?”

“He had a study group,” Tom said. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Aneurin’s not even here,” Jack told him. “He forgot about a paper due tonight.”

Tom sighed. “I keep telling him to get a planner—“

“You two are unbearable,” Fionn said from where he sat, glaring at them from over his shoulder. “Honestly. ‘ _I keep telling him to get a planner_.’ Who are you?”

“I thought you had a _load_ of work to do and that’s why you can’t help pack, Whitehead,” Jack said, arching a brow, “or was that not true?”

“I’m done now,” Fionn said, closing his book. He turned in his seat, pining his hazel eyes on Tom. “What are you doing tonight?”

“This,” Tom said, gesturing to Jack as he walked back to Barry’s room, mumbling about how useless everyone was. “Why?”

“One of my classmate’s is having a party at hers,” Fionn said. “It’s a bit fancy. Did you want to go?”

“Sure,” Tom said. He looked down at the jeans and ratty shirt he was wearing, courtesy of Harry. There were even paint stains on the front. Tom asked if it made him look artsy and creative, and Harry kissed him instead of replying. “What should I wear?”

Fionn’s mouth curved into a rare half smile. “A nice jumper should be fine. You can wear jeans.”

“Are the others going?”

“It's not really their bag.”

Tom nodded, setting his bag down on the couch. “I’ll go see what’s left.”

Barry’s room had never looked this clean, even before Barry moved in. If the cleaning supplies by the door and the smell of bleach were any indication, it seemed as if Jack was tidying up as he went. Currently, he was working on Barry’s bookshelf, which had fewer books than it had DVDs and videogames that he never got around to playing. Tom grabbed a box from the stack by the door.

“Sellotape’s on the desk,” Jack said as Tom started to assemble it. “I need to do the closet, but I thought maybe I ought to call a priest in case I need an exorcism done.”

“Leave Gertrude alone.” Gertrude was the doll Barry’s Nan got him when he was born; apparently, the Keoghan matriarch thought for sure Barry was going to be a girl despite what the midwife said and bought him one of those creepy porcelain dolls with the glass eyes as a birth present. She insisted he take it to uni with him, and he kept the thing in his closet buried under a pile of clothes and old schoolwork with a rosary draped over top.

Jack’s expression was deathly serious when he said, “That’s what she wants. Your trust. When you wake up with bite marks on your back, don’t come crying to me.”

“Aw, Jackie,” Tom said with a smirk. He dropped the now fully formed box on the floor and kicked it towards the closet. “What will I do without you?”

“You have Styles now,” Jack said as he sorted through DVDs.

Tom felt himself smile. “That’s true.”

Jack looked up and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get all gooey on me please. I know you two are obsessed with one another; I don’t need to witness it.”

Barry appeared in the doorway then, swinging a bottle of water in one hand. “I’m starving. Are we almost done?”

“ _We_ , he says,” Jack scoffs. “As if you’ve done anything except sit on your bed and tell me what’s rubbish and what’s not?”       

“What’s the rush?” Tom asked Barry, who set down his water on the desk.

“Me mum said—“

“Barry, for _fuck’s_ sake,” Jack said abruptly, throwing something at Barry’s head.

Tom opened his mouth to tell him off, but his eyes snagged on what he threw, which rolled on the floor towards Tom’s feet. “Oh, Barry.”

“Sorry,” Barry said quickly, his face turning red as he dropped to his knees and grabbed the orange pill bottle. “I thought I got rid of it all…”

Tom couldn’t stop staring at the bottle in Barry’s hands. “If you’re leaving, what are you going to do about the debt you’re in, Bare? He’s not just going to let you go. It doesn’t work like that, right?”

“You didn’t talk to him?” Barry asked Jack.

Jack’s murder eyes were on full effect. “No. I haven’t.”

“Talked to me about what?” Tom asked, looking from Jack to Barry back to Jack.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “This guy wants money. A lot of it. More than Barry’s mum can handle.“

“You want me to pay for it,” Tom said. “That’s what you’re saying.”

Barry’s face could signal traffic to stop, that’s how red it was. “Mate, if you don’t want to—“

“I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it.” He hesitated for a second before asking, “How much?”

Barry looked to Jack, who nodded once. To Tom, he said, “1500 pounds.”

Tom felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but Barry was looking at him with his blue, blue eyes, and all Tom could think about was how Barry’s mum had the same colored eyes and how hard she’d have to work just to make that amount in a month.

He took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 When Fionn said he was leaving for the party, Tom couldn’t get out of the flat fast enough. They decided to leave his bike at Barry’s since it wouldn’t fit in Tom’s boot, and Fionn directed him to his mate’s house. Luckily, Tom found a jumper in his backseat, and they stood by Tom’s car while he changed. Fionn toyed with a cigarette between his fingers as he stared up at the big Victorian. Fairy lights were already hung up, and there was a tapestry hanging in one of the windows upstairs. A black cat watched the boys from the front steps, but Fionn seemed unbothered by the omen.

“Ready,” Tom said, throwing Harry’s shirt into his backseat. He locked the car and pocketed the keys before turning to Fionn. “This okay?”

Fionn’s eyes trailed up and down Tom for a moment before he said, “It’ll do.”

The pair walked up to the house, which was left unlocked because of the party. Unlike Jack’s parties, this was less Risky Business and more Gatsby. For the first time in his life, Tom was completely underdressed compared to Fionn’s friends, who were all wearing colorful suits and glittery dresses.

He fixed Fionn with a glare. “Really?”

“You look fine,” Fionn said as he grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, being held up by a freshman in a literal penguin costume. “No one will care.”

“ _I_ care,” Tom said through his teeth. “Its not good manners to show up at a party completely underdressed—“

“Tom, shut up,” Fionn said, handing Tom one of the glasses before he downed his own. He set the empty glass down on the side table and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “I’m going to go find Lewis. Mingle. Do whatever Tom’s do.”

“Why did you invite me?” Tom asked his friend’s retreating figure. “You don’t even need me—“

“Maybe you should ask around about your boyfriend,” Fionn said over his shoulder. “You seemed to have so many questions the other day.”

Tom stared at the doorway Fionn just disappeared through, confusion settling over him like a sheet of snow. He set his champagne next to Fionn’s empty glass and wiped his hands on the back of his jeans. This was fine. He’d wait an hour before he went to get Fionn, and they’d go home. Maybe he didn’t understand why his friend was being like this now, but the only thing he needed to concern himself with was not letting Fionn end up in the hospital again.

He walked into the next room, which ended up being the kitchen. Fewer people were congregated here, but Tom spotted a girl in a pretty gold dress refilling bowls of nuts.

“Hey,” he greeted, sidling up next to her. Trying not to act like a person wearing a cable knit to a fancy party. “I’m Tom. Fionn Whitehead’s mate. Are you Susie?”

She blew an auburn curl out of her face, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Oh hi. Yeah. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Tom said, smiling. “I, um, was actually wondering if I could ask a favor of you.”

Setting down the bag of nuts, she leaned her hip against the counter and stared up at Tom expectantly. “Everything alright?”

After his chat with Susie, Tom went back out to the party. He recognized a few people from dance milling about. Jasper nodded at him from the loveseat with his arms slung over a boy and girl’s shoulders. He seemed to get the memo about the dress code; he looked very un-Jasper-like in a magenta suit with a teal dress shirt underneath. Tom swallowed the envy that bubbled up his throat and crossed the room to his mate.

“Jasper,” he said in lieu of a proper greeting. “Small world.”

Jasper grinned. “My mate from college lives here.” To his companions, he asked, “Have you met Tom yet?”

The blonde girl smiled up at Tom. “You’re friends with Jack Lowden. My sister dated him last year.”

Ah. Francesca. “Right. Yes. Lovely girl.”

“She was terrible to him,” the girl said, her smile widening. “I remember her waking me up in the middle of the night because Jack was out with you lot and not her.”

“We had our differences,” Tom said diplomatically, though he couldn’t stifle his own grin. Truthfully, Francesca was fine until she realized Jack prioritized his mates over his girlfriends, which was the exact reason why Jack no longer had girlfriends.

“I’m Cornelia but everyone calls me Lia,” she said before pointing to her friend on Jasper’s other side. “This is David.”

David smiled politely but didn’t say anything.

“Pleasure,” Tom said. “Would either of you mind if I borrowed Jasper for a minute?”

“Go ahead,” Lia said as she leaned forward and grabbed David’s hand. “We’re parched anyway.”

Tom sat down in the spot Lia vacated and angled his body towards Jasper. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Thanks for telling me about Barry, man. You helped us all out.”

“Of course,” Jasper said. “I’m glad it all worked out.”

“I was actually wondering what else you knew Felix,” Tom said, “and if he has business with Harry Styles.”

 

* * *

 

He waited for Harry outside of the warehouse, perfectly aware that it was late and his car was practically begging to be broken into. He tugged his sleeves over his hands, pulling his knees up to his chest as he leaned against the front doors. The barrier wall blocked most of the wind, which whipped at his cheeks painfully. He didn’t know where Harry was right now, or if he even had a study group earlier. He didn’t know much of anything about Harry’s life here on campus, and he wondered how much of that was on purpose. There always seemed to be something in the way, something that distracted them or changed the subject.

At some point he must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing he remembered was being shook awake by a concerned looking Harry. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but Harry shook his head, carefully wrapping his arms around him and pulling him onto his feet. He held Tom to him as he unlocked the doors. He walked him inside, rubbing his hand up Tom’s arm, which felt like an icicle attached to his body. The clock that hung on the opposite wall said that he’d been out there for at least two hours.

After the Herculean effort it took to get him upstairs, Harry sat him on the edge of the bed. When he went to try to get Tom’s Converse off, Tom shook his head, moving his feet away from him.

“D--don’t,” he rasped.

“I just want to get your shoes off so you can get under the covers,” Harry said patiently. “I have an electric kettle somewhere, I can make tea and it’ll warm you up—“  

“I—I don’t want--t--tea,” Tom slurred. “I d--don’t want you to t--t--touch me.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You knew,” Tom said, the alcohol in his blood making him brave. After Jasper dropped the bomb on him, he handed him shot after shot, hoping the liquor would wash away the betrayal. “You knew this entire time, and you didn’t tell me.”

Harry sat back on his heels. “Were you drinking? Did you really drive here?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tom tried to say.

“It does matter,” Harry snapped. “You could’ve _died_. You could’ve killed someone else—“

Tom groaned, pitching forward as a sharp pain twisted his stomach. Harry caught him before he could fall off the bed, and Tom could feel him sigh against his neck.

“Please don’t do that again,” Harry whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened—“

“Don’t be nice to me,” Tom said, trying to pull away. “I hate you.”

Harry tightened his grip on him. “I know. I know you do. I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this immediately after Chapter 6, and I liked how it ended because cliffhangers! I'm the worst!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Tom.

Tuesday – 4 Days

 

His eyelids fluttered open.

He lifted his arm and squinted at his watch face, ignoring the throbbing at his temples. It was Tuesday, which meant he didn’t have an actual lecture today, but he had his tutorial at 3. He had to meet Aneurin to help him with his business philosophy paper in the library after, as well, but he still had too much time to himself with nothing but his own thoughts.

Memories from last night came back sporadically as he got out of bed and went to find his shoes. Leaving Barry’s place, Fionn’s parting words, what he asked Jasper. He found his shoes by the folding chair Harry used as a laundry hamper and tugged them on. Last night Harry must have taken off Tom’s sweater, too, and Tom hoped to God it wasn’t because he vomited on it. Instead of tracking it down, he rummaged through Harry’s things and found a black knit sweater that did nothing to keep him warm and hung off of his shoulder but it would do.

He was halfway down the stairs when he realized Harry was sitting downstairs at an easel, watching Tom with a wary look on his handsome face.

“Sleep well?” he called out.

Tom paused on the last step, gripping the railing so tightly that his knuckles threaten to break skin. “I was just going.”

“I’ve got your keys,” Harry told him. Tom patted his pockets to find that he did not, in fact, have his keys on him. “Will you come back?”

 _Yes_ , Tom wanted to say.

“No.”

“Tom—“

“I meant what I said last night, Harry.”

His boyfriend’s—his boyfriend?—jaw tightened. “I can explain. I have a lot of good explanations.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t make much of a difference,” Tom said, “that you have an explanation for knowing that my best mate was involved with your ex housemate, who happens to be the biggest drug dealer in the area, and you said nothing. You see, it doesn’t make much of a difference that you can explain why you were aware that Barry was in trouble and you said nothing to me. To Jack."

Harry looked ill. "It's...complicated."

"It's not," Tom said flatly. "And I might not actually hate you, but right now, it sure as hell feels like I do."

 

* * *

 

As promised, Tom arrived at the library and went right up to the third floor, where Aneurin texted and said he was studying on. His mate had his books spread out all over the surface of one of the long tables, something that isn’t usually allowed but Aneurin knew one of the library workers fancied him so he got away with it. Tom set his bag down on one of the many empty chairs and sat opposite Aneurin, who pulled his earphones out and smiled at Tom.

“Long day?” he asked, confirming to Tom what he already knew—he looked like hell right now.

He pulled the beanie off of his head. “Something like that.”

Aneurin used his pen to push the Starbucks cup towards Tom. “Here. I got you a green tea.”

“Cheers.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the folder filled with his notes from when he took the same class. “I went through all of my notes and pulled what I think will be useful.”

“Thanks, mate,” Aneurin said as he took the folder from Tom. “I really need a good grade on this. I completely blew the last exam.”

“Let me see what you’ve got,” Tom said, reaching for Aneurin’s laptop. The Word Document consisted of a cover page and the words “According to Sun Tzu.” It wasn’t great, considering Aneurin knew about this since the beginning of the term, but he supposed that’s why he was here. “Well. At least you’ve named a philosopher.”

“I’m doomed,” Aneurin groaned.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tom said as he pulled up the rubric. There seemed to be only four major requirements, one of which was to have a cover page and a bibliography. “We’ll make an outline. Go through that folder and see what you can use why I type out the section headings.”

“Okay,” Aneurin said, opening the folder. “Oh, Jack said he couldn’t make it by the way. They’re having a house meeting apparently, but I think he’s meeting a girl. Did Harry say anything about a meeting at the house?”

Tom kept his face neutral. “Dunno.”

"What do you mean? I know you’ve only been together for a little bit but you’re always together—“

“I don’t know what he’s doing tonight, Ni.”

Aneurin stared at him. “Is everything okay?”

"Everything’s fine,” Tom said evenly as he saved the document. “How do we feel about Times New Roman?”

“I don’t care,” Aneurin said, “but I _do_ care about _you_. What’s wrong?”

Tom tried to take a breath. “Nothing—“

“Stop,” Aneurin said so firmly that Tom looked up from the laptop screen. He softened his tone before he said, “Talk to me.”

“I just—“ His head was spinning, fighting with his heart to tell the truth. There was still that loyalty to Harry that wouldn’t go away anytime soon, that need to make his friends like him despite everything. If he told Aneurin the truth, Aneurin might not forgive Harry.

Just like Tom wasn’t sure he could.

"You know his old housemates?” Tom asked. “The ones he had issues with.”

Aneurin nodded slowly, like he was scared if he appeared too eager, Tom would clam up.

“Well,” Tom continued, “that Felix bloke that Barry got mixed up with. He was Harry’s old mate. Harry knew this whole time that Barry was wrapped up in all of this. My mate Jasper told me. No one went in and out of that house without them all knowing. He said he remembered the name Harry; he practically did the bookkeeping for them. He knew, Ni. He knew the whole time.”

He didn’t tell him about the phone call he overheard—how upset Harry was, how he said to stay away from “him.” It didn’t do anything except make Tom feel more foolish than he already felt.

Aneurin looked down at his hands, his face pale. “But Harry—he really cares about you. He was so nice at dinner—“

“I don’t think he’s a bad person,” Tom said, “but he lied to me.”

It’s what he struggled with the most. How could they move on from this? How could Tom ever look at Harry without thinking about what could’ve happened to Barry?

Aneurin nodded, though Tom could tell he didn’t want to. At the end of the day, their loyalty to each other outweighed whatever affection Aneurin might’ve felt for Harry now. He wasn’t going to question Tom’s judgment, just like Tom wouldn’t question Aneurin’s.

Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less knowing how much his mates liked Harry—how much he still liked Harry, too.

While Aneurin started working on his introduction, Tom’s phone buzzed on the table next to his hand. He glanced at his friend, whose head was bent over his keyboard, before he grabbed it. Positioning it on his lap, he unlocked the screen and opened the message.

 

 **Harry** : Can I come see you?

 **Tom** : I’m studying.

 **Harry** : Okay.

 **Harry** : When?

 **Tom** : Idk. I need space.

 

Tom turned the ringer off on his phone and slipped it into the pocket of his bag. He ran his fingers through his hair, sucking in a shaky breath. He didn’t like who he was when he was this upset with Harry; he didn’t like the things he thought or the fact that he drove after drinking last night. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself for that.

Fortunately, Aneurin seemed to sense that Tom didn’t want to talk about it—that it more than likely had to do with Harry—and they continued working in silence. Out of all of their mates, Aneurin took school the most seriously, and Tom was thankful for that fact. Once Aneurin got into a rhythm with his paper, Tom started to go through his own work that he had been neglecting in favor of spending time with Harry.

After he felt satisfied with the work he accomplished and Aneurin’s footing with his own paper, he packed his things and said goodbye. Fionn was meant to meet them after his rehearsal, but as Fionn tended to do lately, he was a no show. With Barry already back home and Jack’s growing distance, Tom was starting to worry about the state of their once tightknit group. First Fionn ending up in the hospital, then Barry getting wrapped up with drugs again. They were a sorry lot, all of them.

Tom stood in line at a local chippy, pulling his gloves off and stuffing them into the inside pocket of his coat. It was very rare that he made his way over here, but the fastest way to cure any bad feelings was a run to the local chippy. A little gravy, chips, and mashed peas never failed to make him feel better. Even the smell alone brought him memories of home. Weekends in Manchester with his old mates. He pulled out a fiver and handed it to the cashier before accepting his sandwich, holding the warm parcel close to his chest as he walked back outside the shop.

He stopped short. Leaning against his car was Harry, his arms folded over a lilac jumper that Tom hadn’t seen before. Harry nodded to the shop front. “You, too?”

“Pardon?”

“Comfort food.”

Tom might’ve smiled if the circumstances were different. Because of course this was Harry’s comfort food, too. “Byproduct of being from Manchester, I suppose.”

Harry tapped the top of Tom’s car with his knuckle. “I swear I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“You couldn’t have known.” He scratched the side of his nose, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “I should go. My sandwich’s getting cold—“

“Are we going to get through this?” Harry asked abruptly. He pushed himself off of Tom’s car and took a few steps closer to him, stopping with only a foot between them. “It’s been less than a day, and I miss you, Tom. Desperately.”

“I—I miss you, too,” Tom admitted. Because he did. Maybe just as desperately. “But it’s not enough. What you did—I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

“I thought I could handle it myself,” Harry said, smiling ruefully. “I was an idiot to think so. Lee—Felix—he doesn’t listen to anyone, least of all me. I just—I didn’t want you to know about my past.”

“I’m not a porcelain doll, Harry,” Tom said. “I know no one is perfect. You didn’t even give me a chance. Why would you want to be someone that you believed would judge you so harshly?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Harry said. “I just knew that I wanted to be with you, and I didn’t want anything to get in the middle of it.”

“And Barry?” Tom asked. “You just didn’t care that my best friend was getting involved with that guy?”

“I didn’t know the extent, okay? I just knew that Felix had a new client that was in too deep so he was going to have him do runs for him. I didn’t know until it was too late that that was Barry. You have to beli—“

“Believe you?” Tom scoffed. “Harry, I can hardly look at you.”

Harry’s face crumbled. “Tom, please. I know I fucked up. I should’ve been honest. I know that now. But I—I can make it better. Let me make it better—“

“I’ve got to go.” Tom didn’t wait for a response before he stepped off the sidewalk and walked round to his car. When Harry moved to stop him, Tom leveled him with a look. “I need _space_ , Harry. I mean it. I can’t think clearly when you’re standing there, looking the way you do, looking at me like that. I _want_ to forgive you, but I just—I don’t even know if that’s possible right now.”

“Okay,” Harry said softly. “Okay, I—I can wait.”

Despite everything, Tom felt the corners of his mouth twitch; he knew Harry really could wait if Tom asked him to. “Have a good night, Harry.”

Once he was safely inside his car, he set his sandwich, now cold, in the center console and his body sagged against his seat. Drawing in a shaky breath, he watched as Harry pulled out a cigarette and lit up, turning his back on the chippy and crossing the street instead. His boyfriend’s shoulders slumped forward, his head down as he continued down the sidewalk, further and further away from Tom. He tried to ignore the hollowness in his chest, but the loneliness only seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

He finished his sandwich in the parking structure, not bothering to care about the crumbs or the smell. The walk back to the halls felt as if it took ages with Tom shuffling his feet to get there. This would be the first time in days that Tom actually slept in his own bed, and he was already dreading it. Sleeping next to Harry was addictive—his warmth, the softness of his skin. It was a special privilege to wake up next to Harry every morning. Tom felt as if he had been cheating somehow, that there was no way that he was this lucky.

It only made sense that it’d all go to shit so quickly.

He shook his head, pulling his keys from his bag. When he looked up, a figure appeared in front of his path, wearing a familiar yellow slicker.

"Fionn,” he greeted. “Alright?”

“Ni told me what happened,” Fionn asked. Tom bristled; it’d hardly been an hour since Tom left Aneurin in the library. “I should be asking if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Tom lied. “Did you want a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” He stood behind Tom as Tom unlocked the front door. Exams must’ve gotten the best of his hall mates because the dorm was empty save for the two of them. He let Fionn into his room and switched on the lights as he slipped off his trainers. Fionn made himself comfortable on Tom’s bed as Tom went to find the kettle, trying and failing not to think about Harry last night when he offered to make Tom a cuppa to warm him up.

His hands started to shake, and he had to put the kettle down.

Tom cleared his throat. “I’m afraid all I have is green tea.”

“That’ll do,” Fionn said. “I’m easy.”

After filling it in his private sink, he hit the power button on his kettle and set it down on the base before going to sit at his desk chair, turning to face Fionn. “What’d Ni say?”

“Just that Harry used to live with that Felix guy and knew that Barry had gotten involved with him,” Fionn told him. “And you were upset and that you two weren’t together anymore—“

“We didn’t break up,” Tom interrupted.

The muscle in Fionn’s feathered. “Ah.”

“I don’t think he kept it from me to be malicious,” Tom explained. For whatever reason, he couldn’t say these things to Harry, but he thought it was important Fionn knew this. “In his mind, he really was trying to protect—I don’t know. Our relationship, I guess. But I can’t just let it go, you know? Barry’s important to me. More important to me than a guy I just met, even if he is my boyfriend.”

“Well,” Fionn said, “as long as you’re happy.”

“I’m not at the moment,” Tom said, “but I think we’ll be fine.”

Fionn smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s all that matters then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just spoiling you all now, aren't I? 
> 
> I know the chapters are shorter, but the aim was to update the same day of the week the chapter takes place in. Obviously that didn't work out unless you all want to collectively pretend today is actually Tuesday. Chapter 9 will be Wednesday + Thursday so hopefully you all can ignore today's mishap. 
> 
> Pop into my inbox on Tumblr or in the comments to let me know what you're all thinking!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers and boys.

Wednesday – 3 Days

 

“Tom, right?” Tom looked up as a boy stood over the table he was working at in the Student Union, the light glinting off of the piercings in his lip and nose.

He lowered the lid of his laptop. “Yeah, I’m Tom.”

“I was told to give this to you.” He set down a red rose before walking off, joining another boy who was standing by the door.

Tentatively, Tom picked up the rose and brought it to his nose. Immediately, a wave of homesickness crashed over him. Roses never failed to remind him of his mum, who was constantly in and out of her garden, tending to the bushes whose flowers filled their house.

Carefully, he tucked the rose into the side pocket of his bag and grabbed his phone. There weren’t any messages from Harry, but then he didn’t really expect there to be.

 

 **Tom** : So much for waiting, huh?

 **Harry** : O my Luve is like a red, red rose…

 

Of course Harry knew Robert Burns. Tom touched his hand to his mouth, his fingertips brushing the smile that started to spread. Harry was an absolute idiot and frustratingly endearing, and Tom didn’t know what to do with him. Tom was still mad—he was sure that wasn’t going away anytime soon—but he couldn’t deny how much he missed Harry. He woke up that morning expecting to roll over and find Harry, only to be disappointed when he remembered he was in his own room again. Alone.

He was typing up notes he took in class earlier that day when Jack arrived, standing behind the chair across from Tom. “Ready?”

“Take a seat,” Tom said without looking up. “Let me finish this—“

Jack sighed. “The banks going to close soon, mate.”

Tom sat back in his seat, lifting his face to look at Jack. “Where’s Barry?”

“He had to talk to his professor after class,” Jack told him. Tom’s last lecture was canceled that afternoon, but he stayed back for Barry, who he still promised to take back to his mum’s.

“And you believed him?” Tom asked, surprised. Jack didn’t believe anything unless there was written proof and a signature from a witnessing party.

“Of course I believed him—should I not have? Fuck.” He slammed his first down on the table, upsetting Tom’s water bottle.

Calmly, Tom righted his bottle. “Come on. We’ve gotta find him. Does he still have Find My Friend on?”

Jack pulled out his phone as Tom packed his things up. He flipped through is apps until he found the right one, furrowing his brows. “He’s in the business building.”

Right where he should be.

“Then we’ll meet him there,” Tom said as he shouldered his bag. He was careful not to crush the rose, but in doing so, he caught Jack’s attention.

“I told him not to,” Jack said, nodding to the flower. “Typical Styles not to listen to me though.”

Tom raised a brow. “He talked to you about this?”

“He actually stayed at the house last night,” Jack told him. “After a couple beers, he loosened up and told me about everything. Apologized for not telling me about Barry.”

“And he’s still walking?”

“He’s not _my_ boyfriend. What he did was shite but he couldn’t have known. He’s used to guys getting into trouble with Felix. He just kept his head down for as long as he could, but as soon as he couldn’t handle it anymore, he got himself out. He’s not responsible for Barry—“

“But he should have told me,” Tom said. “I shouldn’t have had to find out like that.”

Jack opened the door for Tom, and they stepped out into the cool night. “That’s fair. But still. You guys have barely been dating. I doubt he went around telling everyone he’s involved with that he was mates with drug dealers.”

Tom stopped walking. “Are you _defending_ Harry?”

“I mean,” Jack said, “I’ve been saying for a while that I don’t think he’s a _bad_ guy.”

“I know he’s not a bad guy,” Tom said defensively.

“And I was there that night he got his arse handed to him,” Jack continued. “He really hates those guys, Tom. Like really, really hates them. He just didn’t want to bring up all that bad blood with you. He wants to leave it in his past.”

There was truth in that; Harry said as much to Tom. “Right.”

“I’m not saying you need to forgive him,” Jack said, “but I get where he’s coming from.”

Tom didn’t say anything, and Jack didn’t push him to. Out of all his friends, he thought Jack would at least be on his side. From the beginning, Jack didn’t want them together, and now he was telling Tom that he got where Harry was coming from?

So much for loyalty apparently.

The building Barry’s last class was in wasn’t that far from the Union, which was why Tom decided to study there instead of in the library like he usually did. Jack kept glancing at a girl reading a book on one of the benches that lined the pathway, and Tom had to fight back a smile.

“Go talk to her,” he said, nudging Jack’s arm. “I’ll go wait for Barry.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, nodding absently. “Alright. I’ll, uh, catch up with you.”

"Sure,” Tom smirked before leaving Jack behind.

“Hi, Tom,” a girl from his hall, Victoria, greeted as she floated past him, leaving behind a cloud of lavender and peppermint.

He smiled at her but didn’t stop, heading up the stairs to where the offices were. He wasn’t sure which one belonged to Barry’s professor so he sat down on one of the benches in the hallway to wait.

Just as he pulled out a book, another girl stopped in front of him, her hair streaked with pink. “Tom?”

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Here.” She thrust a rose at him, barely waiting for him to take it before she was off, her boots clomping against the polished tile.

Tom looked down at his rose, which was as red and velvety as the first. A part of him wondered how Harry managed to know he was here, and as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he pulled out his phone and opened their text thread.

 

 **Tom** : Stalking me now?

 **Harry** : Maybe.

 **Harry** : Or Jack might’ve texted me and I sent my mate after you.

 **Harry** : Whichevers sexier.

 

Tom snorted, shaking his head.

 

 **Tom** : What are you up to, Styles?

 **Harry** : I’m trying to woe my boyfriend. 

 

He very much wanted to text him back, his fingers twitching to type the quip that immediately popped into his head, but it was too soon for that. He couldn’t get wrapped up in the gesture and forget why he was mad in the first place. Tom didn’t like pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t; he didn’t want to resent Harry years from now because he never properly got over their first fight.

The door three doors down from him opened and out stepped Barry, who looked a little out of sorts. A gray haired man in a terrible suit patted his back before closing the door behind him.

His friend shook his head and lifted his eyes, his gaze meeting Tom’s, his expression clearing instantly.

“’Lo,” he greeted happily, a smile spreading. “Where’s Lowden then?”

“Waiting outside,” Tom said as he got to his feet. He took inventory over his friend: the bags under his eyes and the slight shake of his hands. There was always going to be that worry for Barry, even when he knew he was going to be okay. “Everything alright?”

Barry nodded, running his fingers through the tangled hair that always managed to fall into his eyes. “Me mum’s made dinner if you wanna stay tonight. Curry, I think.”

Tom smiled. “That sounds lovely—“

“Tom! Oi!” Tom whipped around as Niall jogged towards him down the hall, his blonde hair flopping up and down on his forehead. “Bloody hell, mate, you’re a sight for sore eyes, aren’t ya?”

“Oh hi, Niall,” Tom said, smiling tightly. He gestured to Barry, who was looking at Niall like he was an alien. Usually the people who accosted Tom in the hallway with this much enthusiasm sounded a little posher and idiotic. “Niall, this is one of my mates, Barry Keoghan. Barry, Niall Horan. He’s a friend of Harry’s.”

Niall’s grin widened. “Keoghan, is it? Where d’ya hail from?”

“Dublin,” Barry told him, perking up. “What about you?”

“Mullingar,” Niall said, offering his fist for Barry to bump. The two immediately fell into conversation about their experiences being Irish, something Tom and his English blood could not relate to, and he followed behind as his best mate bonded with Harry’s best mate. The universe was officially having a laugh now.

Jack was still outside, though he was alone now, and Tom had to wonder what happened to the girl he hung back for. When Jack spotted them coming down the stairs, he didn’t seem confused at the sight of Niall; instead, he waved and offered him a friendly smile—a rarity for Jack.

“Hey, Niall,” Jack greeted. His eyes went right to Tom, a silent question pooling in the blue of them:

_Are you okay?_

Tom nodded once, averting his own eyes. He liked Niall fine. He was happy and boisterous, and he had this energy about him that Tom was drawn to like he was drawn to his own friends.

 But he was tied to Harry—another reminder of what Tom might have to turn his back on.

The reality of it hit him like a truck; Tom could lose him. Not because Harry was going to give up but because Tom’s own hang ups. He didn’t _have_ to do anything, but sooner or later, Tom needed to make a decision.

But what was stopping him? Harry’s mistake didn’t outweigh how much he meant to Tom; it was the betrayal that stung the most. The fact that Harry wasn’t exactly what Tom thought he was. Except that wasn’t fair to either of them, least of all Harry, who made it very clear that he didn’t want to lose Tom either.

God, he was such an idiot.

“I—I’ve got to go,” he said, stopping abruptly. He looked to Jack because he was the only one who’d understand. “I need to—“

“That’s alright,” Jack said. “Go, mate.”

He turned to Barry, who he promised he’d take care of. Quickly, he rummaged in his bag for his wallet and flipped it open, tugging out his bankcard. “Go to a couple cash machines and get out as much as you need. Jack knows my pin. I’m sorry I can’t go with you.”

Barry took Tom’s bankcard, looking a little alarmed but not upset. “Are you okay?”

Niall smiled knowingly. “He’s good, mate. Tell H I said ‘lo.”

Tom almost laughed but his heart was beating too fast as he tossed Jack his keys. And then he was off, leaving his friends behind. He wasn’t much of an athlete, but he could run. He loved to run. After everything happened all those years ago, and Tom couldn’t stand to be in his house, he ran. In the woods behind the house, by the lake down the road. He ran until his muscles screamed at him to stop, but now he couldn’t feel anything other than the beating of his own heart and air rushing in and out of his lungs.

The arts’ building was practically on the other side of campus, but Tom made it there in record time. He raced up the steps, which felt more like a mountain, and pushed through the doors. His breath came out in gasps, and his face, flushed from the wind, deepened in color as he realized how full of students the foyer was.

“Er,” he said to the first person that walked past him, “do you know where I can find Harry Styles?”

The bloke rolled his eyes. “He’s down the hall. 1081. Whole place smells like a bloody nursery with all the flowers he’s been—“

Tom didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. He tossed a quick “thank you” over his shoulder before he hurried down the hall, the room numbers climbing higher and higher as we went further. Students blurred past him in his haste, but he ignored their dirty looks.

And then he was there.

Standing in the doorway.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

Inside, there were pictures hanging up to dry, but that’s not what caught his eye.

The flowers. Vases and bundles wrapped in ribbon. So many different colors, though Tom’s only seen the red roses.

Harry was standing with his back to Tom, arranging a bunch of tulips in a crystal vase. Tom cleared his throat, and Harry looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight of Tom.

“What—“

“I’m sorry,” Tom blurted out, “for being such an arse. I forgive you. I should’ve forgiven you last night.”

Harry turned around to completely face Tom, the tulips forgotten. “I had it all planned. Wednesday was roses and Thursday was—“

“Tulips,” Tom guessed. “What about Friday?”

Harry pointed to the peonies. “Saturday was lilies.”

“Why?” Tom asked, not needing to clarify what he meant because Harry always seemed to know.

“I wanted to bring a little bit of the countryside to you,” Harry explained, a little sheepishly. “A little bit of nature in your city.”

 

“This must’ve cost a small fortune,” Tom said as he walked further into the room. The guy from the foyer was right; the smell of flowers was so strong that Tom couldn’t even smell the paint.

Harry shrugged. “It was a worthy cause.”

“I didn’t last very long, did I?” Tom asked dryly.

“I’m not complaining,” Harry said, and Tom heard it then. That bit of hope that Tom saw outside the chippy last night.

“This isn’t the countryside that I love,” Tom said, plucking a rose from a bouquet. He turned to look at Harry, meeting his gaze. “It’s pretty, but the I prefer the inside of a bungalow. That’s all I need.”

Harry’s eyes softened. He crossed the room to Tom, careful to keep a foot of room between them. Waiting for Tom. “Nature is completely lost on you, eh?”

“I like a nest of blankets by a fireplace.”

His boyfriend smiled. “A creaky old bed?”

This time Tom didn’t stop the grin that spread over his face. “Exactly.”

“I’ll never be able to tell you how much I regret not telling you everything,” Harry said softly, closer to Tom now. Tentatively, he reached out and grasped the hem of Tom’s shirt. “I promise I’ll be honest. I’ll work for your trust, Tom. This, us, I think it’s good. I’ve never felt this way about—“

Tom cut him off, grasping the front of Harry’s shirt and pulling him down to his level. Their lips met, and together, they practically sagged in relief. Harry’s hand cupped the side of Tom’s face, whispering apologies and promises against Tom’s lips. They were so close to losing this, and Tom could feel the emotion pinch the back of his eyes.

Harry pulled back and looked down at him, catching a stray tear with his thumb. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“I feel like an idiot,” Tom said. “I was so _mad_ —I could’ve fucked this all up.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “What? No. You had every right to feel betrayed. I was _so_ wrong to think I should’ve kept it from you.”

“You’re too nice to me,” Tom said, but he was smiling again. He caught a piece of hair that managed to fall out of Harry’s bun, twirling it between his fingers. “I was asking too much of you. I feel so close to you, but we’ve only known each other for a couple weeks now. I should’ve been more understanding.”

“Let’s agree that we’re both wrong then,” Harry said. “Because I really would like to never fight with you again. My wallet can’t handle it.”

Tom snorted before Harry kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

 Thursday – 2 Days

 

He spent the night in his dorm again, but this time, all the flowers Harry bought him surrounded him. They both agreed that they were spending too much time together and that’s why everything felt so much more intense. Even though Tom wanted nothing more than to spend the night with Harry after the night before, he knew that the best thing for both of them was to introduce space.

That, however, didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to avoid seeing Harry for the rest of the day. After his last class, he went over to the house, where Harry was making more of an effort to be. He waited in the downstairs sitting room with a cup of tea Mary made him before she went off to work. It occurred to both he and Harry as they texted on and off that morning and afternoon that they never went on a proper date—something Harry was keen on rectifying as soon as possible.

“Dinner and a movie,” he told Tom when they ate lunch in the Student Union. “Something stupid that we won’t mind missing when we snog in the back.”

Tom carried one of his roses with him all day, but it was starting to brown after being kept out of water for so long. Taking one of his heavier textbooks out of his bag, he flipped through until he found a page with less ink and pressed it between the pages. It was something he’d seen his mum do many times when she wanted to hold onto a flower she was particularly fond of, and the simple act made him feel closer to her.

His mum. Because he was away last weekend, they didn’t have their weekly phone call, and his father didn’t try to reach him again after texting him to bring Harry to dinner. It was the longest he’d gone without talking to either of them since he went away to uni, and he tried not to overthink it. Silence from the Glynn-Carneys usually meant bad things were afoot, but he couldn’t imagine what that could be.

He was just putting his book back when Harry appeared, looking like a complete stranger in a blazer. He was still wearing his signature black jeans and boots, but there was something different about him.

This wasn’t just Harry; this was Date Night Harry.

Tom grinned. “Well don’t you clean up well?”

“Usually I’d get you flowers, but I sort of played that card already,” Harry said dryly as he produced a tiny box from the inside pocket of his blazer. He perched his bum on the arm of Tom’s chair and held it out for him. “Here.”

Tom stared at the little black box, his throat tightening. “Harry—“

“It didn’t cost me anything,” he assured him. “Humor me.”

His eyes flickered up to Harry’s face for a moment before he took a deep breath, flipping open the lid. His breath caught. Nestled in the center was a silver ring, the band smooth and polished with three delicate lines splitting the surface. Engraved around the center band was the word PEACE.

“Sometimes you get a little lost up there,” Harry said quietly, tapping Tom’s head with his index finger. “When you get a little overwhelmed, and I’m not there to help, I wanted to give you a little peace to carry around with you.”

“Harry, did you make this?” Tom asked, completely gobsmacked.

“Metal isn’t a medium I’m great with,” Harry admitted, “but my professor helped a lot.”

“When?”

“I started working on it a few weeks ago, well before I knew you, but it wasn’t until last week that I decided what I wanted this to end up being. It’s my first attempt so—“

“It’s beautiful,” Tom said. No one was going to hate on this ring, not even Harry.

“Let me,” Harry said, holding his hand out for the box. He plucked the ring out of its cushion and held out his hand for Tom’s right hand. He slipped the ring on Tom before bringing Tom’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his ring finger.

“You _so_ _totally_ like me,” Tom said in an overdone American accent.

Harry screwed up his face, dropping Tom’s hand. “We’ve got reservations, you brat.”

Because he picked the restaurant, Tom let Harry drive. He held Tom’s hand, running his thumb absently over Tom’s ring. Harry’s own rings were pressed against Tom’s skin, and Tom noted that they were different from the last time he saw them.

“Pretty,” he said, brushing his finger over one with a ruby, square cut and inlaid into the silver. There was another, larger and more ornate, molded to look like a rose, and another silver ring with bears around the band. “Why rings?”

“Dunno,” Harry said with a shrug. “My sister bought me one when I got my GCSE results, and I started collecting after that. I picked the rose up in France over the summer. Have you been?”

Tom nodded, and then realized Harry couldn’t see him. “I have, yeah.”

“Where?” Harry asked.

“Um,” Tom said, “Paris, Saint-Tropez, Marseille, Nice…Cannes…”

Harry’s brows shot up his head. He whistled. “Damn. You are the son of a lord.”

“My mum has French ancestry,” Tom said, his face warming. If you met her, it wasn’t something she’d let you forget. Father loved to take her there to make her happy, to keep up appearances. “She likes to summer there so we went often when we—I was younger.”

“Lucky you,” Harry said, but he was smirking. “Summer holidays meant waiting in the library for my sister’s shift to end and then going down to the lake to swim until our mum came to find us.”

The words _that sounds better than mine_ almost escaped, but Tom stopped them in their tracks. Harry didn’t want to hear that his simple holiday afternoons were better than being in some of the most affluent places in France. Tom knew that money was a hard subject for both of them; Tom’s inability to forget that he always had it, and the fact that Harry never had it. Tom couldn’t just throw his money at Harry or try to fix everything with a check.

When Tom didn’t say anything, Harry chanced a glance over at him, squeezing Tom’s hand to get his attention. “Hey. Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” Tom said, forcing a smile. “Restaurants kind of far. Worried to be seen out with me?”

“I think making out in a classroom the other day negates that,” Harry smirked. He lifted Tom’s hand and brushed his lips over his knuckles. “I know we said we’re going on a real date, but I’m fighting with myself not to take you to one of those posh hotels downtown.”

“Later,” Tom promised, enjoying the way Harry’s eyes darkened when he turned to look at him. “Behave, Harold.”

“That’s not my name,” Harry said as he indicated to park.

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not. It’s Harry.”

“Harry, short for—“

“Harry.”

Tom stared at him. “I don’t know why I find this so life changing.”

“There’s very little going on in the news,” Harry said dryly. He shut the car off and tossed the keys into Tom’s lap, his mouth quirked into a half smile that made Tom’s heart squeeze. “We’re on a date.”

He nodded. “We are.”

“I don’t go on a lot of dates,” Harry admitted. “Not in a long time at least.”

“Me, too.” Towards the end of his last relationship, they didn’t really go out anymore. Tom tried hard not to spend too much time with him at all, and the last thing he wanted to do was go out in public with him where all he did was degrade and embarrass him.

Harry opened his door for him, and Tom stared up at his boyfriend—kind and sincere and beautiful. He’d never understand what he did to deserve someone like Harry, someone he could trust and give his heart to, but he’d do it again.

The restaurant Harry brought him to wasn’t like the one Tom’s father took them to lunch to, but it was still one of the nicer ones in the area. At the very least it didn’t serve kebabs like most of the shops around campus. Part of Tom wondered how Harry could afford it, but the worry didn’t last long when he looked up and saw how excited Harry was to give the hostess his name. She sat them at a table for two near the cavernous fireplace, and Harry pulled out Tom’s chair for him before sitting down across from him.

“Have you ever been here before?” Harry asked as he opened the menu.

Tom shook his head. “But I’ve heard good things.”

"My mum took us here my first day at uni,” he told him. “She was upset at the thought of me living off of instant noodles and granola bars so she thought of this as my last proper supper. As if I wouldn’t be home for holidays.”

“Your mum sounds lovely,” Tom said, smiling.

“She is,” Harry said, “and she’ll love you when you meet her. We talked about you during our last phone call. She doesn’t believe me when I say you look like one of Botticelli's angels.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Tom laughed.

“What?” Harry asked, grinning. “I’m an artist. You’re my muse.”

“Apparently I’m Sandro Botticelli’s muse.”

“Ooh, baby, I love it when you speak about artists with me.”

“Oh, stop,” Tom said, though he was pleased. “Look at your menu.”

Harry arranged his features into what he thought was a contrite expression. “Sorry,” he said, glancing up at Tom through his eyelashes, his mouth twitching. “I think I’ll get the salmon. You?”

“That sounds good,” Tom said, closing his menu. “I’ll do the same.”

“We’re so compatible,” Harry smirked. “So. This weekend. What’s the plan?”

“We’ll drive up tomorrow morning,” Tom told him. They already agreed that they’d be skipping their classes; Tom usually did for this particular weekend, and Harry was never too fussed about going to his classes. “Settle in. It’s never good to arrive to the Glynn-Carney the day of a party. Then I was thinking I could show you the town and we could get a bite somewhere. Saturday we’re at the mercy of my mum, I’m afraid.”

“Should I bring a suit?” Harry asked, uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t know if I own a suit, but I can buy one.”

Tom reached over the table for Harry’s hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be fine. It’s more casual than my parents usually go for. What you’re wearing now is perfect.”

Harry bit down on his lower lip. “I didn’t realize how nervous I was. I want them to like me.”

“They’ll like you,” Tom said before he could stop himself. Truthfully, he shouldn’t offer reassure for something he wasn’t even sure about himself. His parents were a different breed to Tom now; he never knew how to read them. He was sure his mum would be pleasant to Harry no matter what, but his father…Tom’s personal happiness and the reputation of the family always seemed to be in contention for him. And then there were his parents’ guests, who were sure to be as rude and awful as Tom expected them to be.

Tom listened as Harry told him about this guy in one of his classes that tried to switch their paintings on the drying rack, but his mind was elsewhere. He was so wrapped up in his family’s secrets that he forgot the bigger picture: he was bringing his boyfriend home to meet his parents. Even after the dramatics of the past couple weeks, something as mundane as meeting the parents filled Tom with dread.

Despite everything that they disagreed on, he hoped Mum and Dad could see how much Tom liked Harry. Maybe that would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week I made certain promises about updating but I might've moved houses this weekend and that took a lot of brainspace. There's a lesson to be learned here: don't make promises you can't keep and don't believe a thing that I say. 
> 
> Anyway! This was a cute chapter to write, and I'm happy to share it with y'all. Let me know what you're thinking about these sweet boys.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Parents

Friday – 1 Day

 

Harry was nervous.

Tom wasn’t sure how to navigate this particular fact because 1) they just started dating, and 2) Harry was very rarely the nervous one. When Tom asked if he wanted to drive, Harry looked at his hands like he forgot how to use them in the process of driving a motor vehicle.

Now he sat behind the wheel while his boyfriend laid in the miniscule backseat. About an hour in, after Tom finally told him that him bouncing his knee like that was distracting, they pulled into a service station for Tom to use the loo. When he came back, Harry was in the backseat fighting a wave of carsickness that Tom knew was a lie but cared too much about him to call him out on it.

For whatever reason, Harry being nervous seemed to calm Tom’s own nerves even though he had every reason to be panicking just as much—there was a whole lot more at stake here for him than there was for Harry. Perhaps this was the universe trying to tell them something, that all these obstacles meant something more, but Tom was determined to ignore any and all signs this weekend. They would make it through this because Tom couldn’t even fathom the possibility that they wouldn’t.

He supposed this was what ambition felt like since the only ambition he ever felt was the kind that was manufactured by his father. His father, who sent him a message this morning reminding him that they were expecting the two of them later that day and were “thrilled.” It was foreboding and vaguely threatening masked in politeness and niceties. An A plus effort.

“We’re almost there,” Tom said over his shoulder to Harry.

Harry’s head popped up in the rearview mirror. “Maybe we should go around the neighborhood or—“

“If we show up past 10, my parents won’t be pleased,” Tom reminded him patiently. It was probably the fourth time Tom’s told him as much that morning alone. “It’ll be fine, H. We’ll say hi, drop off our bags, and go into town. Father will go straight to his office after we arrive, and Mum will be ordering the staff around. They won’t even notice we left.”

He propped his head on Tom’s shoulder, reminding him of Barry. The daily update in the group chat that morning said that Barry was finally approved to take all of his requirements online next semester, and he started rehab next week. “Are we staying in different rooms?”

“We’ll be better off going in like we are rather than waiting for Mum to tell us,” Tom said. “It’ll look better. Like we respect them.”

“I _do_ respect them,” Harry said earnestly.

Tom’s mouth twitched. He patted Harry’s cheek without moving his head. “They’re not here yet, love. Save the charm.”

“Are you sure this shirt is okay?” Harry asked Tom for the fifth time since they left. There was something about meeting the Glynn-Carney’s that made people overly concerned with their stylistic choices. No wonder Tom was so obsessive about his own fashion.

“You look great.” Actually, he looked right fit, and it was going to be a test of Tom’s willpower to be around his parents while Harry was dressed this way. There wasn’t a damn thing about his boyfriend that he’d change but seeing Harry in a collared shirt with a jumper—black and from a thrift store but you wouldn’t know with the way Harry wore it—over it did things to him. Last night was Date Night Harry and this morning he had Posh Harry in his backseat.

When the houses started to grow bigger and further apart, Tom tightened his grip on the wheel. In the past year, he’d only made this drive a handful of times but never with company.

Harry whistled under his breath as Tom turned down the long driveway with the alley of birch trees that seemed to engulf you, the sunlight flickering through the branches. The closer to the house, gardeners started to appear, tending to the landscaping that was out of his mum’s circle of interests. The wrought iron gates were left open, presumably for the staff that Mum hired for tomorrow as they set up, and Tom passed through with only a nod to the white haired guard, Harrison, that’s been the head of their property’s security since Tom was a boy.

Harry’s apprehension was a tangible thing when he parked in the gravel drive in front of the massive triple garage that was already filled with the vintage cars Father collected. He didn’t blame him; the house was a lot to take in. The biggest in the neighbor, it resembled a castle more than a house people actually lived in. His father prided himself in having a home bigger than the footballers that lived in the area, a fact that Tom thought was a bit _too_ snobbish to hang one’s hat on, even for Lord Glynn-Carney.

They met at the boot; Tom lifted it open while Harry stared up at the house, his face pale as he clutched the bouquet of leftover apology flowers he brought for Mother. When Tom handed Harry his overnight bag, he put his hand on Harry’s forearm and craned his neck to give him a quick kiss. “Breathe.”

Harry nodded and cupped the back of Tom’s head to deepen the kiss before Tom could pull away. “Okay. I’m good now.”

“Good,” Tom said, smiling up at him before he grabbed his own bag. He was shutting the boot when Mum appeared at the side door from the kitchen in all of her golden glory. Even at her age, she was a thing of regal beauty, his mother.

Alice Eleanor Belmont Glynn-Carney was a model once—well before she was a wife and mother—and it showed in the way she carried herself down the stairs towards them. “Tom! My darling boy!”            

Tom squeezed Harry’s hand one last time before he stepped forward to accept her hug, her lean, tanned limps wrapping around him. “Mummy, you look wonderful,” he said, patting her back. He kept an arm around her as he gestured to Harry. “This is my boyfriend, Harry.”

“Hello, Lady Glynn-Carney,” Harry greeted politely. He offered her the bouquet with a small, timid smile. “Thank you so much for having me this weekend. Your home is lovely.”

His mum’s perfectly tweezed eyebrows shot up as she took in Harry. “Well hello, dear. Aren’t you gorgeous? Please, call me Alice.

Harry’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, er, thank you.”

“Don’t embarrass him,” Tom told Mum, though he couldn’t help smiling. This was a good sign, even if Harry would never refer to Tom’s mother as Alice. “Where’s Father?”

“A pressing matter came up at the office,” she informed them, looping her arm through Tom’s and then Harry’s and turning them towards the house. “He’ll be in for dinner, however. Let’s get you boys settled in, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Mum insisted that they share Tom’s room because the other guest rooms were going to be full and his father was well aware of the sleeping arrangements. The entire time she told them they’d be sharing a bed, Harry’s face went from stark white to green, and Tom had to make an excuse to get her out of there. While he unpacked the few things that he brought with him—Mum hated the idea of living out of a suitcase for any period of time—Harry lay prone on Tom’s bed. His feet hung off the end because he was so long, and whenever he rolled over, one of his arms dangled over the edge. There was no way the two of them would fit.

He shoved his empty bag in the inside of his too big closet. “So. What do you think?”

“Your mum’s lovely,” Harry said, lifting his arm that he had over his eyes. He pushed himself onto his elbows. “The house is lovely. The staff is lovely. Everything is lovely.”

Tom stifled a sigh. “But?”

“But,” Harry said, drawing out the word, “I don’t think your dad will feel the same way about me.”

“He’ll be nice,” Tom said because it was all he could offer him. He recalled how upset Father was at lunch when Harry was brought up and that was just when Harry was his friend. Even if they put Harry in cashmere jumpers and tailored suits, even if he’s handsome and brilliant, he’ll never be what Tom’s parents want for him. Not for the long term.

But his father would be nice. At the very least, Mum would make sure he was nice. She clearly liked Harry enough for now, if only because he looked like he could model clothes in her favorite magazines. That alone bothered Tom enough to snap, but it was too early. They’d only been there for a few hours.

Harry swung his legs over the side of Tom’s bed, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper. He stopped right before his first tattoo was visible, something that made Tom sick with guilt. “Are we still going into town now?”

“Yes,” Tom said, “or I can give you a tour of the property.”

Harry’s brows pulled together. “Your mum just gave us a tour.”

“Yeah, but that’s of the fancy things they show the guests to impress them,” Tom said, smiling. “I want to show you where I used to hang out. But we can do that later. You’re probably hungry.”

“Starving,” Harry said, getting to his feet. He caught Tom by the waist and dipped his head to kiss his cheek. His breath was warm and sweet on Tom’s face. “It’s going to be a long weekend.”

“I have secret spots,” Tom promised, his fingers gripping the fabric of Harry’s jumper. “We’ll make do.”

Harry grimaced. “But your parents—“

“They wouldn’t know,” Tom said, “but if you’re uncomfortable…”

“God, no,” Harry said, pulling Tom closer so their chests were touching. He brushed a finger over Tom’s cheekbone. “I wish I brought one of the portraits I’ve done of you. I think your mum would like it.”

“She’d _love_ it,” Tom said. He turned his face to kiss Harry’s hand. “Next time.”

 

* * *

 

The parking was horrendous in town, worse than usual for a Friday afternoon without the farmer’s market going on. Here, Tom’s car didn’t stick out as much as it did near campus, and he managed to blend in with the Range Rovers and Mercedes and Audis. Besides the expensive cars and well-dressed patrons, Alderley Edge didn’t look all that different than any other village in England. The brick shops were all connected up and down the main streets with their colorful awnings and flower boxes.

There were a few cafes that still had their patio furniture out and very brave people were sitting out there having their lunch. Tom glanced at Harry, who was quiet as he watched the village pass by through the window. He wondered if he was thinking about his own mum, less than half an hour away now, or if he was still worrying about Tom’s father.

After 15 minutes of going around, Tom finally found a metered spot that wasn’t permit parking. Village Café was nearby, and Tom knew a proper meal would perk Harry up. Harry draped his arm over Tom’s shoulders and kissed the side of his head; Tom reached up and laced his fingers through Harry’s. All of it felt so natural, like they walked through Tom’s home village like this every weekend. If 15-year-old Tom could see him now, walking around town holding hands with his boyfriend, maybe he wouldn’t have been so hopeless.

They ended up outside since neither of them cared to wait for a table, and Harry kept his hand on Tom’s thigh under the table to keep him warm. Tom buried his face into his thick Burberry scarf, watching Harry as he scanned the menu.

“What do you usually get?” Harry asked as he toyed with his bottom lip, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Eggs Royale and a flat white,” Tom said. “The English Breakfast is good.”

“I’ll do that then,” Harry said, shutting the menu. “Okay. We need to talk about something.”

Tom felt his heart skip. “Okay. What’s up?”

“I got a text when we were driving up here,” Harry said. “I was too focused on meeting the parents that I didn’t spare a thought, but now that I’ve met your mum and come out relatively unscathed, I wanted to tell you. Felix texted me. He received the payment from Barry, but he knows Barry didn’t foot the bill himself. He knows it came from you.”

He frowned. “So?”

“Does that not concern you that a guy like Felix knows you’re good for a couple thousand dollars?”

“Well. No. I think it’s common knowledge that I come from money, Harry. Look at my car.”

“Alright I’ll concede that point to you,” Harry said. “But if Lee can’t know that we’re dating Tom. Not now. _Especially_ not now.”

“Harry—“

“No,” Harry said firmly. “I’m not letting him hurt you to get back at me. It won’t just be about payback either because he can benefit from getting to you. It’s a win-win for him.”

“What are you saying?” Tom asked.

“I’m saying you need to text your group chat,” Harry said, nudging Tom’s phone towards him, “and tell them that under no circumstances can they talk about our relationship to people. Especially Barry.”

Tom swiped his phone off the table. “So you’re saying we’re keeping our relationship a secret?”

“For now,” Harry said. “Just until I can feel out this situation with Lee.”

“But what if I don’t care?” Tom asked. He felt a little steamrolled—as if Harry had this time to decide what he wanted and Tom was playing catch up now. “I’m not afraid of him.”

Harry reached for Tom’s hand, his face etched with worry. “ _I’m_ afraid, Tom. You don’t know him like I do. Please. For my peace of mind at least.”

“Fine.” He unlocked his phone and opened the group chat, which had been discussing plans for the match Jack, Barry, and Aneurin were going to tomorrow. He typed a quick message asking them to be discrete about his relationship, that he’d explain when he got back, and shoved his phone into his back pocket without looking at Harry.

Tom spent a lot of his adolescence hiding his sexuality. His father never explicitly said that he was ashamed of who Tom was, but Tom always had to work a little harder to bring home a boy that his parents would approve of. After a while, he stopped trying and his parents seemed satisfied that he did. At events, when family or friends asked if Tom had a girlfriend, his parents always answered for him, saying that Tom “was waiting for the right one.”

Even thinking about it now stung. When he got older, both of them seemed to be more willing to accept his boyfriends, but he still avoided bringing anyone home if he could help it. Being away at uni—Tom didn’t have to hide. He didn’t want to go back.

For the rest of brunch, Tom was distracted, only half listening to Harry and pushing his food around his plate. He ate, if only to not attract concern from Harry, but he didn’t taste anything. This wasn’t how he wanted to start off this weekend, but Felix was a cloud hanging over their heads. Every time Tom thought he might escape him, there was something pulling him back under.

 

* * *

 

The boys were watching a movie in the cinema room when Mum’s voice came through the intercom system:

“Daddy’s home.”

Startled, Harry sat straight up, jostling Tom, who was lying down with his head on Harry’s chest. He shook his head. “He’s not in the room with us, H. Calm down.”

“We should—we should meet him at the door,” Harry said, his eyes a little wild. “Right?”

“If that’s what you want to do.” Tom got to his feet, grabbing the blanket they had been using, and started to fold it while Harry put his socks back on. Tom had to stifle a smile. There was something incredibly charming about Harry thinking he needed to have socks on just to meet Tom’s dad.

They made it just as the kitchen door opened—Harry standing at the counter while Tom sat on one of the barstools—and Miles Glynn-Carney walked in. He was impressive in his Prada suit and loafers, briefcase in hand, and he cut his hazel eyes to Harry almost immediately. Tom watched in wry amusement as his father very openly appraised his boyfriend, who was trying his hardest to stay still.

“Father,” Tom said, coming to Harry’s rescue. “This is Harry Styles. My boyfriend.”

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” Harry said as he stepped forward and offered Father his hand.

Father’s mouth twitched, and he took Harry’s hand. “We just had to meet the lad that was making our son happy.”

Tom smashed his mouth together, keeping quiet. He was not the one to tell his parents that Harry was his boyfriend—he supposed he owed that credit to dear George—and the last thing his father was interested in was meeting Tom’s boyfriend because he made him _happy_.

“Thank you for having me,” Harry said, smiling. “Tom speaks very highly of the both of you. It’s been so lovely having a look about his childhood home.”

“We’ll have to sit and chat at some point this weekend,” Father said. “I’ve been informed you’re an artist.”

Harry’s ears turned pink. “Oh, uh, yes. I am.”

“And you go to school for that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Father smiled again, but Tom could see it was his For Company Smile. “Wonderful,” he said. To Tom, he asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“Upstairs,” Tom said. “Heidi put the wrong sheets in the guest rooms, and it’s an _absolute_ mare.”

Harry had to turn his face away from Father, hiding his smile. He knew that Tom was quoting Mum since she fluttered past them when they were going downstairs, saying the exact same thing.

Father nodded understandingly—the man had the patience of a saint when it came to Mum. “I’ll go calm her down. See you for dinner?”

“We’ll be here,” Tom said.

“Brilliant,” Father smiled. “Harry, do make sure you make yourself at home, son.”

Harry’s eyes widened ever so slightly but he recovered quickly, sweeping a charming smile over his face. “Thank you, sir.”

Tom waited until his father walked through the kitchen to the back stairs to the second floor before he turned to Harry. “Easy, right?”

“You made him seem like an absolute dick,” Harry whispered accusingly, slapping Tom’s arm lightly.

“He is an absolute dick. It’s only Friday. He’s not going to make you hate him before the guests arrive.”

“Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll be good—“

His father’s words from lunch the other day came back to him. “He won’t be. As soon as he starts on the scotch, he’ll be on his worst behavior.”

Harry pursed his lips. “So what, I’m just getting thrown to the wolves?”

“The lions,” Tom corrected. He reached for the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulled him down to his level so he could kiss him. “I’ll be here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Promise?” Harry asked, his voice low as he brushed his nose against Tom’s.

Tom smiled. “Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big storm is coming next chapter...


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can be described in four words: A Big Freaking Mess.

Saturday – The Day

 

When he woke up, Harry was already gone.

They talked about it the night before, when they were pressed together, Tom’s body half tucked underneath Harry’s so they’d both fit on the tiny bed; before the house filled up with people, Harry was going to go on a run around the neighborhood to clear his head. Tom agreed, if only because he wanted to get an idea of who would be here before Harry was just bombarded with names and faces and memories he wasn’t privy to.

His father had been fine yesterday—as nice as Tom could’ve hoped for—but he meant what he said to Harry yesterday. As soon as Dad got into the liquor, all bets were off. Even Mum couldn’t convince him to be nice to Harry once he was on his fourth glass.

Across the hall from Tom’s room, the door was never opened anymore. His own door was slightly ajar, most likely left that way in Harry’s haste to get out the door before anyone woke up, and he rolled over, turning his back to the other room. He knew he should’ve told Harry. He knew it the second he met him that this was different—that he needed to be honest. And then again when his father demanded Harry’s presence this weekend, that there was no way around it.

He should have told Harry that he had a brother, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and now it was too late.

 

* * *

       

Downstairs, his mum was in her office—a riot of floral patterns and mirrored surfaces that contrasted with Dad’s office next door just like the owners’ contrasted one another. Tom hardly made over to the side of his house, where everything was a little more expensive and shinier. Growing up, Collin and Tom were never allowed over here without their nanny present and some habits seemed to stick.

He rapped his knuckle against the grain, capturing his mum’s attention from her day planner. She hadn’t put makeup on yet, nor was her hair done, but this was Tom’s favorite version of her. “Morning.”

“Darling,” she simply said, pushing back from her desk and opening her arms for him. He didn’t hesitate to go to her and instantly he was a boy again, gaining comfort from his mummy. She smoothed down his hair, burying her face into his neck like she used to.

He hated the distance between them, even if he was the one to put it there. Despite how his childhood might’ve been, he was a mummy’s boy through and through. Her happiness always meant a little bit more to him—way more than his father’s approval ever did or would.

“When are people coming?” he asked, remembering why he came down here in the first place.

She brushed her finger along the sweep of his jawline. “In an hour or so.”

“Who?”

“The McMillian's, the Branford’s.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “And the Chambers.”

Tom sucked in a breath. “Mum, it’s always harder when they come.”

“I know, darling, but Isaac insisted. You won’t even notice.”

“What do you mean I won’t even notice?”

There was a pause before Mum laughed softly. “Nothing. I don’t know where my head is. Where’s Harry?”

“He went for a run,” Tom sighed, untangling himself from her arms. “I should see if Father needs help with something—“

“Your father isn’t home,” Mum said as she sat back down at her desk. She wouldn’t look at Tom when she said, “He’ll be back in time for the party.”

Tom stared down at her. He must have heard her wrong. “Are you serious?”

“Tom—“

“No, Mum. _Are you serious_?”

Mum moved her hands like she was going to pick up her pen but stopped, as if she decided against it at the last minute. “Work is very busy—“

“ _Today_. Today of all days.” All of this bullshit about having him here today, about how important it was for Mum, and he couldn’t even miss work for it. The sudden hatred hit Tom hard. “Mum, you _know_ that’s shite.”

“Tom, language,” she said weakly.

He shook his head, the anger rolling off of him in waves. He needed somewhere to put all of this revulsion, but his mum didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it. He didn’t say a word as he walked out of her office, his hands shaking with emotion.

He wanted to _scream_.

He wanted to _hit_ something.

Instead, to keep from scaring the staff, he went down to the basement level. Five years ago, it was converted into a dance studio, and Tom adopted it unbeknownst to his parents, who couldn’t handle coming down here. He didn’t even bother changing out of his sleep clothes. Putting his phone into the speaker dock, he put on his workout playlist and stepped in front of the mirrored wall. Behind him, pictures and trophies and medals adorned the wall, reminders that none of the Glynn-Carneys wanted.

Ballet was meant for this room.

Tom hated ballet.

 

* * *

 

 A little over an hour later, he found Harry back in the house, sitting on his bed with his earbuds in. Tom was running the shirt he took off downstairs through his hair, which was damp from sweat, and shut the door behind him. Harry pulled the white earbuds out and smiled up at Tom, already showered and dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans.

“I wanted your help picking an outfit,” he told him when he noticed Tom staring at his clothes.

Tom brought his gaze back to Harry’s face. “What you’re wearing is fine. It’s just nice to see you looking like you again.”

“I’ll put the blazer on for later,” Harry promised. He slid to the end of the bed and Tom walked between his legs. Harry moved his hands to grip the back of Tom’s thighs, letting his head fall back so he could look at him. “Where were you?”

“The gym,” Tom lied. There was a gym in the basement as well, but Tom very rarely used it. The only person who ever did was his cousin William when he stayed with them over the summer holiday. “How was your run?”

“Fine. It was colder than I expected, and I didn’t have the proper kit.” In his shirt, his tattoos were visible now, and Tom thought back to his first conversation with Jack about Harry. About his mum’s reaction to Harry’s fly tattoo. Then, the idea of his parents meeting Harry was a very distant thought and now he was sitting on his childhood bed.

Tom leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Poor baby.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Harry said, pouting his pink bottom lip. His hands moved higher until they grazed the curve of Tom’s arse. “Do you know how difficult it was to sleep next to you in our _clothes_ last night?”

“The very idea is abhorrent,” Tom teased, kissing Harry again before he pulled away. “I’ve got to take a shower. Be good.”

He left a pouting Harry on his bed and went into his en suite, walking straight to the standing shower and past the claw foot tub. He turned on the water, and while he waited for the bathroom to fill with steam, started to strip off of the joggers he wore to bed.

The shower didn’t last long—there wasn’t much of a point of soaking when Harry was waiting on him—and he pulled a towel off the heated rack and wrapped it around his waist. He stepped out of the shower, watching where he stepped to make sure he didn’t slip. There was an incident when he was 13 where he stepped out without looking and the water that pooled on the floor outside his tub caused him to lose his footing. His mum found him knocked out with his towel barely hanging on.

When he lifted his head, he froze.

Tom looked at the tux hanging on the back of his bathroom door, his stomach sinking. He didn’t notice it when he was in the shower, but it was definitely there in all of its tailored glory and not a horrible apparition that Tom imagined. His tie, with the family crest embroidered on the maroon, hung over the shoulder.

This was not supposed to be a tuxedo and ball gown kind of affair. His mum didn’t even rent one of those big tents for the garden—

He raced over to the small window above the toilet, grabbing the string to the blinds and tugging them up. He let out a groan; in the very center of the garden, surrounded by rose bushes, was an ivory tent that people rented for weddings.

His conversation with Mum from earlier came racing back to him. There was only one reason Tom would’ve have been that bothered by Isaac Chambers’ presence—if there were enough people around as a distraction. And it was so typical of her to completely avoid confrontation by not telling him and just springing this on him instead. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, scrambling off the toilet and going to his bedroom. He pulled open the door, and Harry looked up at him, his brows furrowing together. “We have to go to the store.”

Harry sat up straighter. “What? Why?”

“We need to get you a tux.”

 

* * *

 

They both hated this.

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t look good—he did, he looked damn good, and they both knew it—but it was the fact that they were both very aware that Tom just dropped an inordinate amount of money on Harry in less than thirty minutes. The thing was there weren’t a lot of places in town that sold tuxedos that weren’t designer, and Tom knew that they couldn’t just pop into one of the charity shops and expect something to magically fit Harry. His boyfriend might’ve been lanky but also surprisingly broad and muscled, which meant he couldn’t grab something off the rack and expect it to fit, and Tom’s parents would have a stroke if Harry showed up in something that exposed his ankles or forearms.

Harry watched him in the three-way mirror, standing on the platform while they waited for the sales associate to return. Tom struggled to read his expression, which only made him more anxious.

“I don’t mind,” he told him.

“That’s the problem,” Harry said simply.

“You spent money on the flowers,” Tom shot back. “It’s the same—“

“It’s not the same, Tom,” Harry said, “because it doesn’t matter to you like it does to me.”

Tom opened his mouth to call Harry out on that ridiculous logic but thought better of it. It wasn’t going to help anything, least of all Tom’s cause. Money was always going to be a problem for them—Tom having it and Harry not—and he didn’t know how to navigate the situation without being the bad guy.

The sales associate finally came back and finished fitting Harry, promising that he’d be finished with the minor alterations to the back and length of the arms by the time they closed at 4. Tom tipped the man before they left and ignored the dirty look Harry gave him as he did. There were certain things to do in these types of situations; Tom’s been told over and over again how to conduct himself, and he wasn’t going to let Harry’s pride make him look like an arse.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he felt the shame boil up inside of him.

Dear God, he sounded just like his father.

“Hey,” he said, catching Harry’s arm. He pulled him into an alleyway as to not block the flow of traffic. When Harry still wouldn’t look at him, he cupped his chin and gently pulled his face down towards his. “I’m sorry if I made you feel inferior back there. I shouldn’t throw my weight around like that. I was panicked, but I should’ve—should’ve let you lead or something.”

Harry sighed. “I shouldn’t be so ungrateful. I’m just getting used to it. I understand this isn’t your fault.”

“But still,” Tom said, smoothing his hand down Harry’s neck. “I was a bit of a prick back there, right?”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “A bit. When you tipped that guy? C’mon.”

Tom rolled his eyes but smiled. He laced his fingers through Harry’s, and they walked back to the car together without that wall between them that he hated—except, as happy as he was that they had handled this as soon as it came up, he couldn’t help but wonder how many more fires they were meant to put out before the weekend was through.

 

* * *

 

The McMillian's and the Branford’s were the most tolerable of his parents’ friends, which was part of the reason why they were one of the families that tended to stay with them the most often. The McMillian's had two kids, both of whom were a little younger than Tom and utterly horrible, and the Branford’s were childless and happy to be that way.

It was the Chambers that Tom dreaded the most, however. It was the Chambers that had the most reason to be here, if only because of Isaac, their son and only child, and Tom hated himself for denying them even that. He watched from his window as their car pulled in, as his mum went out to meet them, and he told himself that it was better that he wasn’t down there with them. All he had was a face that was an echo of the one they all loved and missed.

No, Tom would never be Collin, and he was more aware of that fact than anyone else.

The party started at 8, which meant there was ample time between now and then for all of this to blow up in Tom’s face. He should’ve told Harry about Collin. He knew that. But the longer he put it off, the less courage he had to tell him. The only thing he had going for him was everyone’s hesitancy to say Collin’s name. Usually they all just skipped around the topic because that was what people like them did. What was the point in talking about tragedy and ruining a perfectly good dinner party?

He turned away when Isaac stepped out, tall and handsome with his strong jaw and impressive pedigree. When he was younger, Isaac was the first real boy that Tom had a crush on. He used to sit at the edge of the pool while Collin and Isaac swam together, turning bright red whenever either of them told him to join them. It took years for Tom to be able to even speak in front of Isaac, and when he finally told Collin why he was so distant, his brother never made him feel ashamed for it. Collin would never make Tom feel ashamed for anything.

Even killing him.

 

* * *

 

There came a point when Harry had enough of Tom’s dramatics and practically dragged him back downstairs to join everyone for tea. Tom went with little struggle, if only because he knew that it reflected worse on Harry than it did on Tom if they both weren’t down there.

Downstairs, they found them in the less formal of the two sitting rooms, sitting in a circle on the leather chairs that Tom thought smelled like his grandfather. Isaac was the first one to spot him, and Tom had to resist the urge to reach back for Harry, who was standing slightly behind him as he waited to be introduced.

“’lo,” he greeted, getting the rest of the room’s attention. “I’d like to introduce you all to my boyfriend, Harry.”

Harry stepped forward, lifting his hand in a wave. “Hello.”

Lucille, one of the maids, appeared out of nowhere and handed both Harry and Tom cups of tea. It was a testament to how much Lucille paid attention to everyone’s needs because Tom’s tea was already milky and Harry’s had been left alone since he usually took his without anything.

Tom led him to the last two chairs by the fireplace, avoiding eye contact with everyone as he rested his ankle on his knee and took a sip of tea.

“So,” Mrs. Chambers said, smiling at Harry. “You attend school with Tommy?”

Harry’s eyes flickered to Tom briefly before he turned his full attention on Mrs. Chambers. “I do, yes. I study art.”

“How wonderful!” Mrs. Chambers exclaimed. She leaned over and squeezed Isaac’s knee. “Our boy, Isaac, has always had a special interest in the arts, but unfortunately, he’s not artistically inclined.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Isaac said dryly, making everyone laugh. Including Harry.

Tom looked down at his tea while everyone politely grilled Harry, who took it all like a champ. He felt nothing but pride for his boyfriend in this moment—for holding his own, for refusing to let them belittle him—but he knew if he lifted his eyes, he’d look at Isaac and everything would go to shite.

Still, he could feel someone watching him, and he knew it wasn’t Harry. As soon as he walked in, he knew his father was absent since the air was easy to breathe without the weight of expectation hanging over everyone, which meant it was Miles either.

With a heavy sigh, he looked up and almost immediately met the gaze of his brother’s best and only friend.

“Hi, Tom,” he said while Mr. Branford asked Harry about his mum. “How’ve you been?”

Tom shrugged, running his thumb back and forth over the rim of his cup. “Well enough. How’s the new job?”

Isaac smiled, like he knew that Tom was keeping up with him—which he was—but didn’t call him out on it. “Well enough. Dad’s helped in the transition.”

Richard Chambers was a District Judge, and Isaac recently started working in his office. He went to university to become a barrister, just like Tom was in school for, but he was never meant to finish that degree. Things were supposed to be different, and three years ago, it might’ve been.

“Glad to hear it,” Tom lied. “I guess everything worked out.”

Isaac’s smile faltered. Tom knew he was being cruel, but he couldn’t help himself. “That’s one way to put it.”

Tom opened his mouth to respond, but then Harry put his hand on his knee, and his attention went right to him.

“You didn’t tell me your family had a Basquiat,” he said to Tom.

“Oh,” Tom said. “Yes. We used to. A few actually. Mum donated them though.”

“Your mother has quite the eye,” Mrs. Chambers said with a wink to Mum. “Most of our pieces, she helped pick out for me. I would be utterly lost if it weren’t for your mother.”

Harry perked up at this— _common ground_ , Tom could practically hear his mind breathe in a sigh of relief. “I’m not surprised. The color palette of your home says a lot.”

Tom felt himself grin, watching Harry as he leaned forward, genuinely interested in hearing Tom’s mum talk about her favorite galleries. He squeezed Harry’s wrist before turning back to the rest of the circle—only to meet Isaac’s eyes again.

He looked away quickly but not before he saw the bittersweet pride in Isaac’s gaze.

 

* * *

 

“I feel stupid,” Harry said as he walked out of Tom’s bathroom. “I have no idea how to do this tie.”

Tom chuckled, finishing the adjustments on his cufflinks before he crossed the room to where Harry stood. “He showed you again when we picked it up.”

“Twice, bless him,” Harry sighed as Tom took hold of his tie for him.

“You should’ve paid more attention.”

“I was distracted. There was this hot guy standing next to me.”

“Keep talking like that and you might make your boyfriend jealous,” Tom chided.

Harry’s hands started to wonder, moving down Tom’s back to his arse. “Never. He looks too good in a tuxedo for me to stray.”

“You’re going to have a crooked tie if you keep doing that,” Tom smirked as he tried to wiggle away from Harry. “ _Harry_.”

“Sorry, babe,” Harry said, looking like the least sorry person in the world. He leaned forward and kissed Tom’s forehead. “Mm. I was thinking about the cottage earlier.”

“Oh, yeah? When?”

“In the shower.”

Tom pulled back and squinted up at Harry. “Crooked. Tie.”

“I was thinking about the noises you make,” Harry said, dropping his voice as he pulled Tom closer, “when I fuck you hard.”

Tom swallowed. “Ah.”

“I can take it from here,” Harry said, gently removing Tom’s hands from his tie. Expertly, he finished where Tom left off, turning to look at himself in Tom’s floor length mirror to see if it’s straight.

“You’re such a liar,” Tom said, shaking his head. “You didn’t need my help.”

“No,” Harry admitted. When he looked over his shoulder at Tom, his eyes dropped to Tom’s crotch. “But I see it worked.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “You’re cruel.”

“Sit on the bed.”

“Pardon?”

Harry turned around to face Tom, his hands on his hips. Tie perfect. “Sit on the bed. Now.”

He hesitated a second before taking two steps back and falling onto the bed. Harry crossed the room towards him, and with his knee, spread Tom’s legs open. Gently, he pushed Tom’s mouth close, which had fallen open as he stared up at Harry.

Without taking his eyes off of Tom, Harry dropped to his knees. He cupped the back of Tom’s neck and brought him down to him, capturing his lips with his. With his free hand, he worked Tom’s button through the hole. Tom lifted his arse as Harry pulled down his pants to his knees.

Harry pulled away long enough to whisper, “I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, Tom thought this was the closest his childhood home had ever felt like heaven.

 

* * *

 

Bundled in his overcoat and scarf, Tom stood between his mum and Harry as guests pulled up the drive. His father helped wives out of cars while Mum accepted hugs and compliments for the house and her face, and Tom and Harry stood by pretending like they wouldn’t rather be anywhere other than there.

Every once in a while, Harry would reach out and put his hand at the small of Tom’s back. Tom could feel his thumb rub circles soothingly, and he had to resist the urge to melt back into Harry’s chest. He could feel his father watching them like a hawk, but it only made Tom bolder. When they turned to walk back up to the house after their last group arrived, Tom kissed Harry’s cheek before taking his hand. Harry cut his eyes to him but didn’t say anything as they walked through the house.

The back doors were left open, revealing the sparkling garden. Even though he didn’t understand the motives behind tonight, he had to admit Mum threw a proper party. A stringed orchestra played quietly in the back of the tent, which was illuminated with lanterns and candles. The seating came in the form of large banquet tables that were white and distressed tastefully for a rustic look that Tom knew his mum was very into right now if their dining and family rooms were any indication.

One of the flaps were left open if guests wanted to explore the garden, which meant heaters were scattered around the tables to keep everyone inside warm. Servers materialized with trays of champagne and hor d'oeuvres, but Tom went straight to one of the open bars. If nothing else, his parents’ parties were good for their open bars.

“Really?” Harry asked, not bothering to hide his disapproval.

“G and T,” Tom told the bartender before turning to his boyfriend. “What?”

“The party just started.”

“So?”

Harry gave him an unimpressed look. “Don’t you think it’s a little soon to start on the liquor?”

“I’m just doing what the host is,” Tom said, nodding to where his father stood, surrounded by his colleagues with a scotch in hand. “Learn by example.”

“Maybe you should talk to some people,” Harry suggested, poking Tom’s ribs. “Make your parents happy. Make _me_ happy.”

"Okay.” Tom picked up his drink and tipped his head back before downing the contents, the gin burning pleasantly down his throat. His parents didn’t spare any expense on these things, which meant the alcohol was always the best. He set it back down on the counter and grinned widely at Harry. “Ready.”

“You’re an idiot,” Harry said, shaking his head. To the bartender he said, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tom said, still grinning, as Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him away. He wasn’t drunk, nor would he get drunk from just one drink, but he decided he wasn’t going to let the day bring him down. The only way through these things was a positive attitude alongside copious amounts of alcohol—even if that meant smuggling that alcohol behind his boyfriend’s back.

As Harry moved around the party expertly, speaking to any of Tom’s parents’ friends that ensnared them, Tom managed to sneak a glass or two of champagne while Harry’s back was turned. When Albert Worthington approached, his red hair spiked like a teen villain in a movie from the 2000s, Tom was on his third glass and didn’t have the proper dexterity to avoid the prat in time.

“Tommy,” he greeted, reaching his hand out for a shake. “It’s been too long. How’s school?”

“School’s grand,” Tom said. He gestured to Harry. “This is my boyfriend, Harry. He goes to school, too.”

Harry took a deep breath, as if the oxygen alone would get him through this encounter, before saying, “Pleasure.”

Albert’s brow arched but he still managed to smile in a manner that Tom was sure he believed to be charming. “I’m sure. Come to a lot of these things then?”

“This is my first.”

“Start right at the top, eh?”

Harry’s smile was brittle. “I suppose.”

Tom looked from Harry, who he liked, to Albert, who he detested, and said, “It was nice talking to you, Bertie, but I forgot something in the house. We’ll be back.”

Harry waited until they were safely away from Albert before he asked, “Do you know anyone that isn’t completely awful?”

“No,” Tom admitted. “They’re all pretty bad.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s a conspiracy against me. My father only befriends people with terrible children.”

“Maybe we need to drink after all,” Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I can do another hour of—“

“Tom, Harry,” Father said jovially, placing his hands on their shoulders. “There are people I’d like you to meet, Harry.”

Harry’s head snapped to Tom. “Um—“

“We’ve _been_ meeting people, Father,” Tom said.

“But not my work colleagues,” Father said, his breath like a shot of scotch. Tom was getting buzzed just standing next to him. “It’ll be good for him. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Harry said, throwing Tom a panicked look as Father guided Harry away.

Tom’s stomach dipped. “Wait—“

“Tom, darling,” Mum said as she approached him, her silver gown swirling around her legs. “I’d love for you to give a speech before we do cake.”

“Speech?” Tom frowned. _Cake_? “What are you talking about?”

“Todayisspecial,” Mum said, her words running together. Tom leaned in and stifled a sigh; the smell of vodka was practically spilling out of her. _The Glynn-Carney’s were a sorry lot_ , he thought to himself. “How could you forget?”

“I didn’t forget, Mum,” Tom said, keeping his voice calm when he noticed her chin wobbling. Gently, he took her by the arm and pulled her away from the crowd so they wouldn’t be overheard. “We don’t usually…make it a bigger deal than it is, that’s all. Remember? It just makes everyone…sad. That’s what the quiet donation is for—“

“He would’ve been 25,” Mum said.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. He was so fucked.

“I’ve got to find Harry,” Tom said as everything started to click into place. The bigger party, the Chambers—it was all to celebrate this milestone in his brother’s life that he wouldn’t even be here for.

It turns out it wasn’t hard at all to find Harry; his father was holding court by the family table with his hand on Harry’s shoulder still. Tom made his way over, ignoring anyone who tried to stop him for a chat. He’d only been away for a few minutes; there was no way his father could do that much damage—

“But hopefully we can turn him around so my son isn’t _always_ supporting him, right, Harry?” Tom froze.

There was a burst of laughter. All at the expense of Harry.

Harry cleared his throat. “I do all right on my own actually, sir.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Father said, winking at Ben, one of their neighbors. “He’s an _artist_.”

“Ah,” Ben nodded, smirking. _Arsehole_.

"Yeah, and that art did just fine before I met your son,” Harry said, his tone clipped. “I’m not interested in Tom’s money.”

“Tuxedo is nice though, isn’t it?” Father said through a stiff smile. “The fancy car you get to drive. Alongside that 1,500 pounds my son withdrew recently.”

Tersely, Harry moved out from under Dad’s hand and narrowed his eyes. “That money wasn’t for me. Maybe you should talk to your son before you accuse me.”

"What are you insinuating?” Father demanded. “That I don’t know my own son?”

“I think the son you know is not who he really is,” Harry said evenly.

“And what do you know then? Just because my son’s been slumming it for a few weeks doesn’t make you an expert on my family.”

"Slumming it? _Really_?”

Possibly it was Harry’s tone—hurt and shocked and wounded—that snapped Tom out of the trance he was in, but he pushed his way between Ben and William, who both remained absolutely useless as they watched Dad tear into Harry. He knew--God, he _knew_ \--that it would end up like this, but he had been foolish enough to hope that maybe he was wrong. That maybe Father would behave for Tom. And he put Harry right in the crossfire, all because he didn't _truly_ want to believe his father to be as despicable as he's always proven he was. 

“That’s enough,” Tom said, putting himself between his father and Harry. To his dad, he said, “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“What did you expect, Tom?” Father snapped. “Did you think we’d be happy about this?”

“ _You_ invited him—“

“Because your _mother_ told me to!”

“Harry doesn’t deserve—this isn’t right—“

“You think I wanted him here at your brother’s birthday party?” Father continued as if Tom hadn’t spoke. His eyes darted away from Tom just as a waiter came by with a tray that held only a single glass of amber liquor. Tom knew from experience that his father often ordered the staff to keep him supplied during these things, which meant they were often following him around.

Tom was so focused on the idiotic server that he didn’t hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath. “Your _brother_?”

Father’s mouth curled into an amused grin. “Did you not _know_?”

“I—“ Harry looked to Tom, his brows furrowed. “You have a brother?”

“Harry,” Tom said weakly.

“Wow,” Father said, taking a step back. At this point, his friends had already managed to fade away, which only left the three of them in their fucked up little circle. “Must not be that serious then, eh, son?”

“Harry,” Tom said again, ignoring his dad. “Let’s just go.”

Except Harry didn’t budge, and when Tom went to grab his hand, Harry snatched his arm back. “You have a _brother_.”

“I do,” Tom said quietly. “It’s—it’s a long story. Please, let’s just—“

“A long story?” Harry asked. “Tom, what the hell?”

“I—“

“If I could have everyone’s attention.” Tom’s head whipped around to where his mum stood in front of the band, holding onto a microphone. She met Tom’s eyes and smiled, as if seeing him there gave her strength. “As you all know, today is a very special day. Our son, Collin, whom we will always love and miss, would have turned 25 today.”

"Would have,” Harry repeated. He looked at Tom, his expression unreadable. “Is he—“

“Three years ago, both of our sons were in a terrible accident right before Christmas,” Mum continued, oblivious to what was happening. “Miles and I are so thankful that our youngest son, Tom, survived, and every day he makes Collin proud—“

“Harry,” Tom said, grabbing Harry’s hand while he was distracted with Mum. “I can explain—“

“—Miles, love, if you wouldn’t mind joining me—“

“Harry, I swear I didn’t mean—“

“— _I can’t do this_ —“

“Can’t do what? Harry, please—“

“Hello, everyone,” Father greeted as he joined Mum, placing his hand at the small of her back. The picture of a happy couple for all of their friends. Even his eyes, which were unfocused before, were clear and bright, and his smile was wide with adoration for Mum and none of the malice that was aimed to Harry.

“I can’t be here,” Harry breathed, backing away from Tom. “I really, _really_ can’t be here.”

“Wait.” He followed Harry through the tent. People were openly staring now—partly because of his parents’ speech and partly because of the conversation between Harry and his dad that had gotten out of hand—and Tom resisted the urge to yell at them. To tell them all to mind their own fucking business.

He finally caught Harry outside by the roses, if only because Harry stopped. His hands were fisted at his sides, his shoulders rigid. Tom wasn’t foolish enough to touch him so he said softly, “Please don’t go.”

“What happened?” Harry asked without turning around.

Tom closed his eyes. “He was picking me up from a party. We got hit on his side. Drunk driver. I was in a coma for a week. He never woke up.”

Harry was visibly shaking now. “And that’s why they’re so protective over you. So controlling.”

“My brother would’ve inherited my father’s title,” Tom told him. “I was never meant to take on such a big role in the family. That was always Collin. My dad never spent that much energy on me before, and he’s not always happy with my choices—“

Harry snorted. “Like me, right?”

“What?” Tom asked. “ _No_ —“

His father appeared at the entrance, his arms folded over his chest. “Tom, if you’re finished out here, your mother would like you inside.”

“Dad—“

“ _Now_ , Tom.”

Tom turned to Harry, feeling helpless. “Please wait for me.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night, Tom,” Harry said flatly. With one last disappointed look at Tom, he turned his back on him and started up to the house.

Tom looked at his dad, who was shaking his head as he watched Harry go. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Father’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“How dare you talk to him like that,” Tom said. “He didn’t ask to come here. We were fine before you had to interfere. If you didn’t guilt me into this whole bloody weekend, none of this would have happened!”

“Do not raise your voice—“

“You embarrassed him! You tore into him in front of your friends like he was nothing!”

“This isn’t the time—“

“Fuck the time!” Tom exploded, throwing his hands out. “ _You embarrassed my fucking boyfriend_!”

“Tom,” Mum said sharply. He didn’t even notice her walk up behind Dad. “You’ve said enough.”

Tom ran his fingers through his hair, giving his father the dirtiest look he could muster. All of the alcohol that he consumed tonight was all but out of his system now, and he would have killed for another drink. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you, Mum—if I ruined the night—“

“That was your father’s job tonight,” Mum said without looking at Dad. “Go find Harry. Make sure he’s okay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father’s mouth drop open, but he couldn’t care less. “Thank you. So much--”

Mum nodded. “Go, darling. Make your brother proud.”

 

* * *

 

Tom walked up the steps to Jack’s house, the pulsating bass from the rap song they were playing shaking the walls so drastically that the bricks were rubbing together, dust and debris sprinkling onto Tom’s head. He brushed it out of his hair before he went inside. He felt silly in his tux with his family’s crest on the tie, but he wasn’t going to turn away now. Not after everything he put Harry through tonight.

When he went back into the house after he left his parents, he realized Harry left his things and went right to the waiting cars outside that were meant to drive the drunk guests back to their homes. Tom decided to stay back and pack his things, if only to give Harry some time to get back to campus. There was no point in trying to catch him if he was already on the road, and it was probably better to give Harry time to cool off. 

Or at least, he hoped it would be. 

Inside, the scene was the same as it was the last time Tom came to a party at Jack’s. An ancient disco ball hung above guests’ heads, casting multi-colored hexagons over the partying students’ faces. Mary’s cat slept on the staircase, where couples were necking. Tom bent to scratch behind her ears for a second before he continued up the stairs to where he thought he’d find Harry. He hoped he didn’t run into Jack, who might’ve seen Harry and knew what he did.

 

_You’ll hurt him, Tom._

_He’s not made from the same stuff. All you’ll do is hurt him. He doesn’t need more people in his life hurting him._

 

At the time, Tom thought Jack was being unfair—that he’s done nothing to prove that he’d hurt Harry.

He should’ve listened to him.

The door at the end of the hallway was closed this night, and Tom knew that meant his hunch was right. Harry was on the other side of that door. Harry, who was nothing but good and kind to Tom. Who came to his family home knowing that he’d be looked down on but going because he thought Tom would protect him.

He should’ve defended him. He should’ve been honest with him. Instead, he let his father bulldoze the boy he cared about because he was too much of a coward to stand up to him.

He knocked three times and took a step back, smoothing down his already smooth tie. It was a nervous habit he hadn’t done in years, since he wore a uniform to school, but he was _nervous_ now. He knew that Harry had every right to slam the door in his face, but he selfishly hoped he wouldn’t.

“Harry,” Tom said when he didn’t answer. “Harry, it’s Tom.”

There was a terrible pause after Tom said his name, and his skin started to itch as he waited to hear something, _anything_ , that proved there was someone on the other side. He was about to walk away, go downstairs and sneak a beer or five before Jack could find him, when the door swung open. Harry was still wearing his tuxedo besides the jacket, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He stared at him, his eyes rimmed with red.

“I know who it is,” he said irritably.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Tom said. “Check in.”

Harry’s nostrils flared in indignation. “You wanted to _check in_? We didn’t just sign a business deal, Tom. I’m your fucking _boyfriend_.”

Despite it all, Tom’s heart fluttered at Harry still referring to himself as his boyfriend. It was foolish—foolish to hope—but he latched onto it anyway. He took a tentative step closer. “I know you are. I messed up. I made a complete arse out of myself and out of you. When you left—“

“Bet your old man loved that, huh?” Harry scoffed. “Big, worthless nobody couldn’t take the heat so he—“

“Don’t call yourself that,” Tom said sharply. “You are not _nobody_. You are _everything_. You are talented and brilliant and wonderful. My father was out of line. Everything he said was—was so wrong and I—I should’ve—“

“You _should’ve_ but you didn’t. You didn’t do a damn thing to stop him,” Harry said, his lip curling in disgust. It was like he couldn’t even look at Tom. “I saw you just standing there while he had a go at me. You said you wouldn’t let them hurt me.”

No, no, no, _no_

“I—I didn’t—that wasn’t my intention,” Tom managed to say. “Please, Harry. I don’t want to hurt you—“

“And yet you do,” Harry said flatly. “For fuck’s sake, Tom. You didn’t even tell me you had a brother, much less that he was _dead_. That _you_ almost died, too. How do you suppose that makes me look to your father, who already thinks I’m scum? How does it look that you didn’t even trust me enough to tell me that?”

Tom flinched. “I never talk about it. I didn’t even think—“

“Exactly,” Harry snapped. “You didn’t _think_ , Tom. _You never think_. The way you got on me for lying and this whole entire time you weren’t being honest with me. How bad you made me feel, how much I had to work for it—“

“ _Harry, I’m sorry_.”

“—And you invited me to his bloody birthday party—“

“ _I know_ ,” Tom said. “I just—I wanted you there. With me. I never thought my dad would act that way. He invited you, too. They both did. They just—they want to be apart of my life but its complicated. Collin, he—he was a dancer so the arts freak my parents out—and they know I have boyfriends though so it’s not like that—“

“But not boyfriends like me, eh?” His voice was mocking now, and it was terrible. Absolutely terrible. “What am I, Tom? Your boyfriend or a point to prove to Mummy and Daddy?”

He felt his face heat up. In shame for the way his parents acted. In guilt because Harry would believe him to be the same so easily. “Don’t. That’s not what I’m like. I’d never do that to you. You _know_ that.”

“Yeah, and I thought you’d never hurt me either but you did a pretty bang up job with that, Tom,” Harry said dryly. “Or should I say my lord?”

“Oh fucking stop,” Tom said irritably. “I didn’t ask for any of that, okay? You think I wanted my brother to die? You think I wanted to inherit my dad’s title and that stupid fucking house? I didn’t. I didn’t ever want any of this, but it’s what I’ve got.

“My father is pretty despicable, but you should know I don’t agree with what he said. I messed up. I know I did. I should’ve been honest with you,” Tom said. “You said you liked me, that you could even love me, but you didn’t even hesitate to accuse me of setting you up, of attacking my character. What kind of person do you think I am, Harry?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I don’t know anymore. Because the guy at that ridiculous party is not the guy I fell for.”

“So what then? Where does that leave us?”

“I think—I think we should stop.”

Tom couldn’t breathe. “What does that mean, Harry?”

“I mean we need to stop talking right now,” he said, “before I hate you more than I already do right now.”

Before Harry could anything else, Tom was turning on his heels and walking back down the hallway towards the stairs. He thought Harry might’ve called out after him, but he couldn’t have turned around if he wanted to. What did he even expect?

Not this, he said to himself. Definitely not this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was...a lot. It's definitely the biggest chapter I've ever written, but we're only getting started.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Must this hurt you just before you go?
> 
> Ever Since New York x Harry Styles

Sunday – 1 Day After

 

That morning he stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours without moving, his body numb while his mind continued to race. His stomach rolled every time a new memory came back to him, and he was reminded just how awful last night was. If he got up, he was starting a day where Harry hated him and that wasn’t a day Tom wanted to go through.

Eventually, he managed to get himself out of his room to meet Barry, Aneurin, and Jack for brunch. Jack texted him late last night, telling him that he knew he was back early, and Tom figured it’d be easier to just rip the plaster.

A guy held the door open for him, and he shot him a quick smile before he stepped inside. The warm air caressed his face, which was pink from the cold. He spotted the back of Aneurin’s mess of curls and made his way over to the table they managed to get, squeezed between an elderly couple and a family of three.

Tom plopped down into the empty seat next to Jack. “You lot alright?”

“Better than you,” Jack said as he slid a mimosa in front of him. “You look awful.”

“A break up will do that to a person,” Tom said flatly before he downed his drink.

Aneurin winced sympathetically. “Sorry, mate. I thought you both worked everything out with the Barry thing.”

“It wasn’t Barry,” Tom said. “It was me. My family. I mucked it all up.”

“Styles stayed tightlipped,” Jack said. “Said he’d let you tell me.”

“I didn’t protect him from my parents.” The thing about meeting your best mates in uni was that it was easy to keep your skeletons in your closet as long as it was back home. Which meant that yes, they knew about his accident, but they didn’t know the full extent of it. They didn’t know that he had a brother, just like Harry didn’t know that he had a brother. When he said he didn’t talk about it he really meant that he did not talk about it.

It was no excuse. He knew that now. As long as he kept secrets from the people he loved, how could he call himself a friend?

Tom drew in a shaky breath before he added, “And I didn’t tell him about my brother.”

All three of them froze.

“Did I hear you right?” Jack asked. He looked at Barry and Aneurin. “I definitely don’t think I heard him right.”

“When I got in that accident,” Tom said, “I wasn’t the one driving. My older brother, Collin, was. I don’t talk about it. I just—it’s how I was raised. We don’t talk about the hard stuff. Which is why I never told Harry either, but he found out yesterday. The party—the reason I always go home this weekend—it was Collin’s birthday.”

“So you brought Harry home for a birthday party when he didn’t even know who the honoree was?” Aneurin asked, dumbfounded.

Tom looked down at his hands. “I know. It was so stupid. And I embarrassed him further by keeping it from him because it looked like I wasn’t serious about him.”

“No wonder he’s so mad,” Jack said, rubbing the scruff along his jaw. “I mean Styles is a complete pacifist. I don’t even think I’ve ever so much as heard him raise his voice. Even with Felix and those guys, he kept it together for as long as he could until they started wailing on him—“

“I get it,” Tom said sharply. Even if they weren’t together right now, Tom didn’t want to hear about Harry getting beat. “He has every right to be mad at me.”

“But you’ll get back together, right?” Barry asked.

Tom tried to smile as he lied to his mate. “We’ll see.”

Both Aneurin and Jack were staring at him, but he changed the subject to the match yesterday instead. He wasn’t going to talk about Harry anymore; he couldn’t handle it, and he wasn’t exactly keen on crying in public. There wasn’t much more to stay on the topic—either Harry would forgive Tom, or Tom would have to move on.

Even if the very idea of that was abhorrent to him.

After brunch, Barry went to meet the girl he was seeing while Aneurin tagged along as babysitter, which left Jack and Tom. Because they both walked, they took a detour into the park, enjoying the rare sunny day while they could. Kids were actually playing on the equipment and dogs ran back and forth off of their leads. Some kids their age were lounging on blankets as they soaked up a little Vitamin D.

“So,” Tom said, kicking a rock off of the path with the toe of his boot, “who was that girl from the other day? The one outside Grant Downey when we went to get Barry.”

Jack’s neck reddened. “Who?”

“You know who, you git.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolled his eyes. “My love life is fair game but the second I ask about a girl you’re interested in, you get all—“

“Her name’s Naomi,” Jack mumbled. “She’s my lab partner.”

“She was pretty,” Tom said, nudging Jack’s arm with his elbow.

“She’s brilliant,” Jack admitted. “Way out of my league.”

“Most girls are.”

“Oi, fuck off.”

“Are you going to ask her out?”

Jack looked like he’d rather hurl his body in front of the teenagers skating by them than have this conversation. “I, um—I might’ve already.”

Tom put his arm out to stop Jack. “Come again?”

“Bloody hell—I already asked her out,” Jack said, exasperated. His face was precisely the same shade as Harry’s lips now. “She said no. Okay? She turned me down.”

“But _why_?” Girls liked Jack. Girls liked Jack so much usually that some months they went a rather long time without seeing their friend.

Jack shrugged as they continued walking. “I’m sure she has her reasons. I made our lab a bit awkward now, but nothin’ I can do about it now, I reckon.”

“Wow,” Tom said. “Big of you.”

“Well. I might’ve tried emailing our lecturer about switching partners,” Jack said, chuckling. “She said no.”

“That makes more sense,” Tom said with a smirk. He looked over his shoulder for a second before he added, “I need to talk to you about something. Something Harry told me over the weekend.”

Jack cut his eyes to him. “Tom, I’m not very good with relationship advice.”

“No,” Tom said. “ _God_ no. He told me that Felix knew that I was responsible for Barry’s debt being paid off. It’s why I texted you lot about not talking about Harry and me. Harry was worried that Felix would try to…get to me somehow.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Jack said immediately. “Over my dead fucking body.”

“I know,” Tom said, “but Harry seemed really worried.”

“As far as I know, Felix is looking to expand his reach,” Jack told him, keeping his voice low. “That’s all Barry knew before he got out. Apparently, he’s not focusing so much of his efforts on our side of town right now.”

“Blimey,” Tom breathed. “Barry really got us into a mess.”

Jack put his arm around Tom’s shoulders—protective and brotherly. Tom’s throat tightened. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Tom. Not with the rest of us around you.”

Tom said nothing as he rested his head on Jack’s arm. Even if he didn’t think Jack’s words were possible, he wanted to pretend—to pretend that he was right, that Tom would be okay. But Tom knew better at this point. Whatever was going to happen would happen whether they wanted it to or not.

 

* * *

 

Tom was feeling restless. Ordinarily, he would’ve gone to the studio and danced off some of this extra energy but dancing now didn’t just remind him of his brother. It reminded him of Harry, too.

There was something to be said about giving one’s self over to someone the way people do in a relationship. In only a few days, Harry had infiltrated every part of Tom’s life, and now he was miserable, left with the fragments left behind. It was far, far too soon for Tom to say that he loved Harry, but he might’ve. Given enough time, enough room to breathe, he could’ve easily fallen in love with Harry.

A part of him felt as if he was already well on his way.

“What am I doing?” he asked out loud. He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side, running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to sit around and wonder what could’ve been. _Pining_. His father was the last person he wanted to think about right now, but growing up, he always told Tom and Collin to be proactive. To go after what they wanted. While the irony of that advice coming from such a control freak like Dad wasn’t lost on Tom, he couldn’t argue with the logic.

He didn’t want to wait look up and wait for a bus so he took his car to the warehouse. Before they parted ways earlier, Jack asked Tom if he wanted to hang out at the house with him because Harry said he was going to be out working all day, and Tom knew he didn’t get a part time job in the last 24 hours.

Half an hour later, he was pulling up to the overgrown warehouse car park and parked in the first spot that wasn’t covered in junk or overgrown with weeds. He planted a foot on the ground and got out of the car, sliding his sunglasses over his hair. A sheet of gray clouds hung overhead, threatening the rest of the day with rain. Tom locked his car before he dropped his keys into the pocket of his coat and made his way up to the front doors. As soon as he stepped into view of the clouded windows, one of the doors swung open and out stepped Harry in a thin white shirt that did nothing to fight against the cold.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Tom.

“I—I needed to see you,” Tom said. “It can’t just be over like this, Harry. We’ve barely started—“

“Which makes it easier to just end things now,” Harry said, “before either of us end up more hurt than we need to be.”

“How can you just say that?” Tom felt like he was talking to a complete stranger. This was not the guy he brought to his parents’ house. This was not the guy from the cabin.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, and it was then that Tom noticed a bandage on his bicep. He didn’t dwell though because Harry was in the process of ripping out his heart. “I had a lot of time to think last night. We’re too different. It was never going to work.

“That’s not—“ A crash from inside the warehouse cut him off. “Is there—do you have someone in there?”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “I—yes.”

His heart skipped. “Who?”

“That’s none of your business,” Harry said quickly.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe properly; despite the fact that they were standing outside, there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen. “Harry—“

“I think you should go.” He refused to look Tom in the eyes, and Tom suddenly felt desperate, like the ground was crumbling underneath him.

“Don’t do this.” His voice cracked, and Harry winced.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot_

Harry took a step back until his back was pressed to the door. As if he couldn’t wait to put more space between them. “Leave, Tom. I don’t want you here anymore.”

 

* * *

 

 

The last time Tom cried, he was 18. He woke up surrounded by machines, beeping as they informed everyone that yes, yes he was alive. His body was sore, and for a terrifying moment, he couldn’t feel his legs. As the feeling in his toes slowly started to spread up to his calves, the moments that led up to being there finally came back to him.

When the screaming started, people whose job it was to keep him alive rushed into the room.

It felt like hours before someone told him what happened—the whole story and not the abridged version that left out all of the gory details that his parents might’ve preferred. He sat there, in his hospital gown, with the IVs sticking out of him, as a random doctor that he’d never see again told him that there had been an accident.

When he asked to see his brother, the doctor turned to the nurses, who went to get his mum.

His brother—his brilliant, lively brother—whose side was impacted by the drunk driver would never wake up. Unlike Tom, Collin was declared brain dead and showed no sign of waking up. Their father was out of town for business. He didn’t even stick around to see which one of his sons was going to make it. And Mum. Mum begged him, sobbing that she couldn’t do it, that he could take that burden from her. Not even an hour after he woke up and he was being asked to end his own brother’s life.

He cried himself to sleep that night.

This was a different kind of lost, but it stung the same. Harry was never coming back, just like Collin would never come back, and that left Tom alone to wonder what he could’ve done differently.

If he didn’t go to that party, Collin wouldn’t have picked him up, and they wouldn’t have gotten into the accident.

If he weren’t such a damn coward, Harry would still want to be with him.

He wiped under his eyes with his sleeve one last time before he knocked on Jack’s front door. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to be alone. If he went back to his dorm, he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t do something idiotic like try to get Harry to talk to him again.

They were well and truly over. He’d have to accept that.

He’d try _very_ hard to accept that.

The door opened and there was Fionn where he expected to see Jack, his eyes widening when he took in Tom’s current state. “Tom?”

“Where’s Jack?” Tom asked.

“He nipped out for a second,” Fionn told him before he stepped aside. “It’s freezing, come in and wait for him to come back.”

Tom nodded and walked inside, the smell of marijuana and wing sauce hitting him first. Jack’s other roommate must’ve had his mates over earlier. “So why are you here?”

“I was picking up a book I lent Jack,” Fionn told him as he sat on the couch and fiddled with the record player that rested on the end table until Jack’s Oasis record was playing. He turned it all the way up, the only way Fionn listened to music.

Tom slipped his coat off and laid it on the arm of the couch before he sat down next to Fionn. “Which book?”

“The Children Act,” Fionn said. “Is everything okay?”

“I—“ Tom’s voice wavered, and he broke off. “Harry and I broke up. For good. That’s where I just came back from. I went to see if we could fix things, and he said no. He—he had someone else there. With him.”

“That’s rubbish, that,” Fionn said, his lip curling. “The body wasn’t even cold yet.”

Tom shrugged, a pathetic lift and drop of his shoulders. “I keep thinking about it, you know? Him with someone else. It absolutely _kills_ me. I—I can’t—“

Fionn used his thumb to catch a tear that managed to escape. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Tom said, laughing humorlessly. He sniffed, lifting his eyes to meet Fionn’s. “Thank you, though. I’m glad you were here.”

His mate smiled, still cupping the side of Tom’s face. “I’ve always been here, idiot.”

The truth of his statement washed over Tom and his lips parted to respond just as Fionn leaned in, reading him wrong. And it was the hurt over Harry that kept Tom in place, his eyes shutting just as Fionn’s mouth met his.

Everything that he knew about his friend started to rework it’s self in Tom’s mind. All of the snide comments about Harry. The lingering looks. How Fionn always seemed to care about Tom’s opinion more than the others’. It was like he already had the answers but he feigned ignorance up until the shear truth of it was slapping him in the face: _Fionn liked Tom_.

This wasn’t right.

All he could feel was Harry’s fingers in his hair, his smile against Tom’s mouth. The feel of his heart underneath Tom’s palm, steady and strong just like Harry.

Tom pulled back.

They stared at each other.

He tried to find his voice. “I—“

“Bloody hell, that music’s loud,” Jack said as the front door swung open. They startled apart just as Jack's head popped out, his expression grim. “It’s your car, Tom. Call the police and get out here.”

“I’ll call,” Fionn said, fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

Outside, Tom stood out on the top step of Jack’s porch and stared at what should’ve been his car but was now unrecognizable. Jack started taking pictures with his own phone of the damage. The doors were dented, as if someone had taken a bat to them, and most of the windows were shattered now. The rearview mirror was hanging off by a wire.

“Oh my God,” Tom breathed. “We didn’t even hear it happen.”

“Fucking Fionn has to blow out his eardrums whenever he listens to music that’s why,” Jack said as he pocketed his phone.

“It’s Felix, isn’t it?” Tom asked. There was no one else that could do something like this to Tom. “There was a chance he knew what car I drove.”

“He’s not an idiot,” Jack said. “He’d have to be absolutely sure this was your car. He had to know more than just your car’s model. He knew your registration number.”

“How?”

“We can ask Barry but…“

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “But what?”

Jack held his hands up, palms out, in a show of innocence. “Maybe he had something on Styles. I don’t know.”

“Harry wouldn’t do that.” Even if Harry hated him, he seemed genuinely worried for Tom. He never wanted Tom to be apart of all this, and he trusted that Harry would never sell him out.

Jack stared at the remains of Tom’s car for a long moment before he finally turned back to Tom. “I really hope you’re right, Tom, because next time, there’s not going to be a car. There’s just you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cat's out of the bag! 
> 
> Fionn likes Tom, Harry does NOT like Tom, and Tom should probably go car shopping now.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll write a chapter that isn't a soap opera. Maybe.

Wednesday – 4 Days After

 

Due to the fact that he currently hated his dad, Tom was without a car for the time being. He was considering applying for a job on campus, in the library or in one of the cyber cafes, to start saving since his current savings were being used elsewhere. If his dad knew he was even thinking about getting a part time job, he’d throw a strop, which only made the idea that much more appealing.

It was late as he left the library with his books and an application tucked under his arm. He waved goodbye to Vincent, whom he was studying for his exam with, before he started back towards the house. After what happened on Sunday, Jack insisted that Tom stay with him for the time being. He never outright said anything to Tom, but Tom knew the reason wasn’t just because Jack was worried about Tom’s safety.

Harry moved out on Monday.

His room was empty besides the bed, dresser, and desk. Tom tried not to think too hard about it, but he knew the reason was because Harry was cutting all ties to Tom.

Even though Dad paid for his accommodation through the year, Tom was following Harry’s lead and cutting ties. His dad didn’t have power over him anymore, and if Tom wanted to live in a house with his best mate, he was going to live in a house with his best mate. He didn’t care that all of his savings were going towards rent now, and he would very well be broke going into the new year. He was on his own.

Living in his ex boyfriend’s bedroom.

His roommates were hardly ever home—a hazard of being in your final year of uni. Mary left a plate of cookies in the kitchen, but Tom wasn’t entirely sure that they weren’t _special_ cookies so he took a pass. Jack said that each of them had their own cupboard to fill with food or cooking supplies. Because Harry was never home, Tom only found a box of tea bags in his cupboard when he was cleaning it out.

He grabbed a flapjack from his stash and went up to his new room, pausing to scratch the car on the stairs briefly. After burning three different candles for six hours straight, he finally managed to get the smell of Harry—lavender and paint and fresh linen—out so when he opened the door, he wasn’t hit by that longing anymore. He set his school things down on his desk and touched the picture of Collin he tacked to the wall before he flopped down on the bed with his phone in hand.

           

 **Fionn** : You think maybe we should talk?

 

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, his lips pursed.

 

 **Tom** : I’m not sure. My head’s a mess right now.

 **Fionn** : What if I said I thought you were worth it?

 

Tom set his phone down on his chest. He wished so desperately that he could feel something reading Fionn’s text but he didn’t. There was only guilt.

He went to pick up his phone again to respond to Fionn when his door opened. He sat up as Harry walked in, his eyes widening when he saw Tom on the bed.

“Oh,” he said. He looked over his shoulder before looking back at Tom. “I didn’t know—“

“And why should you?” Tom asked with a dry smile. “Did you leave something?”

“One of my notebooks,” Harry told him, scratching the back of his head. “Jack said no one would be home.”

“I came back early,” Tom said. He watched as Harry took a tentative step towards the desk, which was now covered with Tom’s belongings. The door clicked shut behind him. “I haven’t seen a notebook.”

Harry’s gaze drifted over the picture of Collin. “So you’re living here now?”

“For now.”

“Funny how things end up working themselves out.”

Tom tried not to let it sting. The problem with Harry was that he almost never meant to be cruel, which meant he meant his words that much more. “Yeah. Funny.”

“Well if you see one of mine—“

“I’ll let Jack know.”

His eyes flickered to Tom. “Okay. Thanks.”

“I’ve got someplace to be,” Tom said as he got out of bed, discreetly tucking his uneaten flapjack under the pillow and slipping his phone in his pocket in one swift move. He needed this moment to end before he lost his mind. “So.”Harry made no move to get out. “Where?”

Suddenly, his phone felt heavier in his back pocket. “I’m meeting Fionn,” Tom said, lying quickly. “I need to change.”

“Why do you need to change to meet _Fionn_?”

“Why is that any of your business?”

Harry bit down on his lower lip, looking from Tom to the closed door back to Tom. “It’s not.”

“Okay. He’s waiting for me so I guess we’re done—“ He gestured to the door.

“Wait,” Harry said. Tom arched a brow, and Harry’s cheeks flushed. “Maybe—maybe we could just—if you wanted—“

Tom’s brows pulled together. “What are you asking me?”

Harry took a deep breath before taking a step closer to Tom. “Maybe we could be together. One last time. Closure or whatever.”

He could not be serious— “ _Fuck you_.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “That’s the general idea, love.”

“I don’t—“

“You don’t what?” Harry asked, his voice dropping. “You don’t want me?”

"That’s not fair,” Tom said as Harry floated closer to him. His eyes went right to the foot of distance that separated them now. “You’re the one that said we didn’t work.”

Harry twisted his hands together. “Let’s just pretend, Tom.”

He didn’t say it, but Tom knew what he meant:

 _Let’s just pretend we could be together_.

“What about that—that other person?” Tom asked.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Harry said. He was close enough to Tom that his fingers brushed Tom’s, silently asking permission. “Tell me to leave and I’ll leave. Or we can have one last night together. It’s up to you.”

He knew he should say no. The fact that minutes ago he was being told by his best friend that he’d wait for him to get his shit together was reason enough to say no. The fact that Harry had another person over at his barely 24 hours after their world imploded—never mind the fact that they spent the past weekend breaking each other’s hearts.

But he lifted his eyes and met Harry’s and all of those reasons disappeared.

When their lips met, everything he didn’t feel with Fionn, he felt then. Gently, Harry started to move him back towards the bed until Tom was on his back and Harry positioned himself over Tom. He cupped Tom’s jaw.

“And I didn’t pressure you?” he asked quietly as his thumb brushed Tom’s bottom lip. Tender and gentle enough to make Tom’s throat tighten.

Tom shook his head. “You didn’t pressure me.”

 _You could_ never _pressure me_ , Tom didn’t say.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Harry said softly.

When they kissed again, it tasted like ashes on Tom’s tongue. The sadness, the longing—it all built up for this one moment, this final goodbye. As Tom’s hands slipped up Harry’s shirt, he explored every bump and ridge of Harry’s abdomen, committing every detail to memory. There should’ve been more time for this, for everything. They should’ve had more time, but now they were saying goodbye, and Tom wasn’t ready.

They took their time with one another, both of them understanding what this was. After Tom took his own shirt off, Harry leaned back and stared down at him, shaking his head with a rueful smile.

“Beautiful,” he said under his breath reverently, as if Tom wasn’t meant to hear. He pressed a kiss to Tom’s collarbone, his neck. He trailed a line of searing kisses all the way down Tom’s chest to his stomach. His tongue slid across the waistline of Tom’s pants, causing his erection to twitch in response.

When he took Tom in his mouth, Tom felt like a god.

His tongue swirled around the head of Tom’s cock before he started moving his head up and down the shaft, his hand gripping the base. Tom bit down on his lip as Harry went down on him, trying not to moan since he wasn’t sure if anyone was home yet.

Before he came, he reached down and tugged on Harry’s hair. “I’m going to finish.”

“I’m not done with you yet,” Harry said, his lips shiny. “Do you have—?“

“Oh, um—“ Tom wiggled out from under Harry so he could reach over to the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer and felt around until his hand grazed the box. “I do.”

Harry stared at the box Tom now clutched in his hand, an emotion flitting across his features too quickly for Tom to decipher. Before he could say anything, Tom closed the drawer, set the condoms on the nightstand, and reached for Harry’s jeans.

“Talk to me,” he said to Harry as he pushed the button through the hole.

Harry closed his eyes, nodding. “What are we doing, Tom?”

“We’re pretending,” he said, a shadow of smile curling his mouth. He dropped his hands from Harry’s jeans, which were now gaping open. Thick curls were visible over the top of his pants. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Harry said immediately, “no I don’t.”

Tom stared up at him, his heart pounding in his ears. He could practically hear it begging him to stop— _stop, for the love of god, stop_ —but short of a natural disaster, nothing could make Tom stop. He was more careful now, his touches hesitant when he should’ve been sure. He pumped his hand up and down Harry’s cock until Harry was begging to be inside him, and he happily obliged.

Harry eased Tom onto his side, his chest flush against Tom’s back, and then he was burrowed inside him. Tom ground his arse against Harry, and he heard Harry’s muffled _fuck_ in his hair. Harry’s hands gripped Tom’s hips and held him in place as he fucked Tom.

He leaned his head back so it rested in the crook of Harry’s neck, and he turned his face to kiss under Harry’s jaw. Hungrily, Harry caught Tom’s lips with his own. His tongue snaked into Tom’s mouth, a little more aggressively than usual. He rolled Tom onto his stomach, and then he was curved around Tom’s back, pulling his hips up.

“ _God_ ,” Harry hissed, his fingers curling into Tom’s sides. The bed started to creak as Harry picked up the pace. “Nothing feels this good. Nothing will ever— _God_.”

Tom gripped the sheets. He could barely choke out a garbled, “Harry _._ ”

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Harry said breathlessly. Carefully, he pulled out of Tom and flipped him over again. Tom moved to take hold of Harry, but Harry caught his hand instead. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tom said, shaking his hand free. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

Harry’s brows pulled together, and he sat up. “That’s not even remotely true, Tom.”

“I cannot believe we’re having this conversation right now,” Tom muttered under his breath. He urged Harry off of him, and Harry obliged, moving to sit on the bed. Tom didn’t look at him as he got out of bed, grabbing his pants off the floor.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know why I thought I could handle this,” Tom said. His whole body was shaking, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. “This was a bad idea—“

“Okay,” Harry said, grabbing his things off the bed without looking at Tom. “Tell Fionn I said hi then.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, Tom, really,” Harry said as he tugged his shirt down. He plopped down on the side of the bed and started to pull the legs of his jeans back out. “Its for the best, right? You and fucking Fionn.”

“Me and—what? No. That’s not—it’s not like that—“

“Whatever. It’s none of my business.”

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Tom asked, baffled. “ _I_ came to _you_ , Harry. I wanted to make it work, and _you_ said—“

“I know what I fucking said,” Harry said irritably. He got to his feet and did a little jump as he pulled his jeans up the rest of the way up his arse. He shoved his fingers through his hair, his mouth twisted into a rueful smile that Tom hated. “I’ll leave now, don’t worry.”

He was halfway to the door, snatching his coat off the ground, when Tom remembered something.

“My car was vandalized,” he said to Harry’s back. “A few days ago. Know anything about that?”

Harry paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “Is that where we are now? You think I’d fucking vandalize your car?”

“I don’t think _you_ did it,” Tom said.

Harry dropped his hand, turning to face Tom. “Were you home?”

“I was here,” he told him, “but there was music playing so I didn’t hear.”

He omitted the part about Fionn, if only because it wouldn’t help anyone.

“How bad was the damage?”

“She’s destroyed.”

Harry sucked in a breath. “Jesus. Okay. I’ll look into it.” He hesitated before asking, “And you’re okay?”

“Physically, I guess,” Tom said.

Harry nodded absently, running his fingers through his hair again. “I’ll fix this.”

Tom didn’t know what he was referring to but either way, he didn’t think there was anything Harry could do for both problems that were causing Tom distress. “I don’t think you can.”

           

* * *

 

Later, after ten minutes for a wank once Harry left, Tom met Fionn at a pub down the road from the house. Tom wasn’t sure if Fionn was already there when Tom texted or if he was just being mindful of Tom’s current car situation. He figured that he might as well make good on the lie he fed Harry—the lie that clearly got under Harry’s skin even if that wasn’t Tom’s intention—but he hoped Fionn wouldn’t know what Tom was doing barely half an hour before he met him.

Fionn was sat in a booth furthest from the bar, and Tom ordered himself a pint before he made his way over. His friend hadn’t noticed him yet, and Tom took the opportunity to take inventory of him. After the incident, Fionn didn’t drink as often or as much, so a glass of water was sweating in front of him where a beer usually would be. Tom’s eyes weren’t the best, but it seemed like Fionn had combed his hair for once, wearing a pink jumper Tom’s never seen before.

He looked nice. Different. Tom’s stomach did an unexpected dip.

“Hey,” he greeted as he set his beer down on the table. “Were you waiting long?”

Fionn straightened up, shaking his head. “How were you classes?”

“They were…fine,” Tom said with a shrug. He ran his finger up and down the side of his glass, drawing a line in the condensation. “We should talk.”

“Yeah,” Fionn said, “but I didn’t think I’d be nervous.”

Tom arched a brow. “You? Nervous?”

“You’ve always made me nervous,” Fionn admitted. “I used to make myself look like such a prat around you.”

“Not true,” Tom said immediately. “I’ve always admired the way you hold yourself. You’re my best mate, Fionn.”

Fionn lifted his eyes to Tom’s. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He took a long drink from his beer before he said, “I think…I think I always kind of knew? But I don’t know. I could never lose your friendship. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Typical Tom,” Fionn said with a dry smile. “You’re always so worried about things that don’t matter.”

“I’m starting to realize that.”

“What else have you realized?”

“That we can’t go back,” Tom told him. After Harry left, he realized that _they_ could never go back. Whatever transpired over the weekend, what happened tonight—Harry and Tom could no longer be Harry and Tom. Just like Fionn and Tom could no longer be just friends now that Tom was finally clued in. “But I meant what I said before, Fionn. I’m not in a good place right now. I can’t sort out my own head, much less my feelings. I don’t want you to be a rebound.”

“Then what would you want for me?” Fionn asked. Tom was struck by how young Fionn was in that moment; he was in the same year, but he was a year younger than the rest of them.

“More,” Tom said simply. “More than I can give you right now.”

“What if—“

“It’s not fair to you, Fionn. Maybe there are feelings there, but _I don’t know_. All I can think about is—“

“Him,” Fionn finished, looking away. “It’s still him.”

“Yes,” Tom admitted, “and I don’t see that changing for a while.”

“So then what?”

“I think we’ll figure it out. Together. But organically. No overthinking it.”

Fionn nodded. “I can do that. I’ve waited this long.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed, and it felt good to laugh after tonight. It felt good to be happy because of something as simple as his friend making a joke. “Cheers.”

 Fionn grinned at Tom, and they clinked glasses, the air feeling a little lighter. For the first time all night, Tom felt like he could breathe again.

 

* * *

 

Friday – 6 Days After

 

All week, Tom had been dreading this day.

Without his car, he was forced to take the bus again, which meant there was a good chance he was going to see Harry. After Wednesday night, there were no more run-ins or sightings, and Tom was telling himself it was for the best.

He was on his way to the bus stop when he saw him—not Harry, but someone that Tom dreaded seeing even more.

“Daren, hi,” Tom said, taking a step back.

His ex boyfriend’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk. He looked exactly the same as Tom remembered him—dirty blonde hair and eagled eyed, always knowing exactly what was going through Tom’s mind. Confidence exuded from him even now as they stood three feet apart, wrapped in their winter clothes. “Long time no see. Where are you off to?”

“Oh, just, um, class,” Tom said. “What are you doing on campus?”

“I was meeting an old mate,” he told him. “This class—can you skip it?”

Tom was suddenly a year younger, moon-eyed over his older boyfriend who was good looking and popular and charming. Tom couldn’t have believed his luck that someone like Daren would like him, damaged and young and naive, and Daren was very aware of this fact.

“I can’t,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

Daren’s smile didn’t falter. He knew Tom wasn’t sorry. “Too bad then. We’ll have to catch up soon, yeah?”

“Sure,” Tom before he could stop himself from his people pleasing ways.

“I’ll see you around,” Daren promised, but it sounded like a threat in Tom’s ears.

Tom nodded because he wasn’t sure what he could say. He started walking towards the bus stop again, but right as Daren passed him, he caught his wrist to stop him. Tom sucked in a breath.

Daren’s grin widened, sharp and deadly, a knife sliding across Tom’s throat. “And do tell Fionn I said hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I was going to bring Daren actually into the story and not just talk about him, but why not add a little bit more drama and angst while Tom's already drowning in it? 
> 
> #PoorTom2k17


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How would you guys feel about a part in Harry’s POV? No? Oh. Well. Don’t read the end of this chapter I guess.
> 
> Attempted Sexual Assault TW for this chapter.

Friday – 6 Days After

 

As soon as Daren was out of sight, Tom ran right back to the house. Around the time class would’ve started, Jasper texted him, asking where the hell he was, and he told him he was feeling ill. He was now curled up in his bed, wrapped up in a knit blanket his nanny made him for one of his birthdays. It felt like ages ago that he pulled it out of the gift bag—another person’s life entirely.

Tom rolled over, staring out of his open window. Outside, he could see people walking by, going about their days like Tom should’ve been. He had tea with Professor Credence in an hour to discuss internship opportunities for next term, but Tom couldn’t imagine anything more dreadful than pretending that he was who he was at the beginning of this term.

The very last thing Tom wanted to be was the man his father expected. As much as he loved his brother, he didn’t want his life. He didn’t mind being the spare. He didn’t mind that his brother was his father’s favorite or that the attention was always on Collin. His mother might’ve liked showing him off growing up, but he could handle that much. It was easy to smile and nod. It was harder to ignore your own dreams and ambitions to stay in your father’s good graces.

He remembered when he was fourteen and Collin was eighteen. It was the beginning of the end; his brother was going off to uni the next day and Tom was meant to stay behind in their lonely castle with the king and queen. When they were much younger, Collin used to sneak into Tom’s room, and they’d huddle together on Tom’s bed, whispering until one of them nodded off.

It was the first time in a long time that Collin came to sleep in Tom’s room with him. Tom remembered thinking how sad his brother looked. They were mirror images of each other, these brothers, in more than just looks. If one of them felt a certain way, the other felt it, too.

“You’ll do great,” Tom reassured him in that earnest way younger brother’s spoke to their older brothers.

Collin smiled then, but his eyes were shining, like Mum when Collin graduated or when their cat died. “No, _you’ll_ do great. One day, when you’re my age, you’re going to smash it, Tommy.”

“But everyone likes you—“

“None of that matters,” Collin said. “I’ll do well because Father wants me to do well. He’ll make sure of it. You’ll do well because you’re top in your class and so bloody talented, little brother. When you go to uni, you’ll do what you love. What makes you happy, and Dad will never know or interfere. Promise?”

Tom looked down at his brother’s pinkie finger between them, his breath caught in his throat. _Secrets_ , his subconscious seemed to whisper; the little monster inside of him lifted its head, sniffing around. As a boy, Tom collected secrets and promises and blood oaths from his brother like they were little nuggets of gold.

He hooked his pinkie with his brother’s and hoped Collin couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating. “Promise.”

 

* * *

 

Sunday – 8 Days After

 

Tom walked into the theater, which was dark besides the spotlights pointed at the three actors that were on stage. His eyes scanned the smattering of people in the seats until they landed on a familiar head of strawberry blonde hair.

He sat down in the empty seat to the left of Jack, setting his bag down in front of his legs. They were two rows back and directly behind the table with people that were writing down notes as the actors read their lines. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s the best. Easily.” Currently, Fionn was one of the three actors on stage. He was sat in a chair, staring up moodily at his classmates that were arguing. “He’ll get the lead.”

“Don’t jinx him,” Tom said under his breath. Fionn was extremely superstitious, and even if Tom didn’t agree with him, he thought they ought to be respectful in Fionn’s place of worship.

Jack cut his eyes to him. “I’ve been here for two hours watching these other twats audition. I think I know.”

“It doesn’t matter what you know. It matters what _they_ know.”

“I hope Fionn knows he’s too good for this shit.”

“He knows.” Their mate was the last person to talk himself up, but he wasn’t an idiot. His talent was far greater than whatever else was happening within these walls. It was why he was always so bored. “What time is this over?”

Jack shook his arm so his sleeve would fall, revealing his watch. “About half an hour.”

“Where are the others?”

“Ni’s helping his nan move a sofa. Barry is studying with Gigi.”

Gigi was Barry’s girlfriend they finally learned. She was a sweet girl—blonde and leggy and smarter than all four of them combined—who liked Barry immensely, and that was enough for Tom to like _her_ immensely. She kept him on track when the rest of them couldn’t, and they’d forever be in her debt for that.

Fleetingly, Tom wondered if it was normal for other people to always have to know where their friends were like they all did.

“Scene,” one of the people up front said, clapping their hands together to get their attention. “Good work, lads. Bring in the next group.”

Fionn shook the hands of his partners before he walked down the stairs on the side of the stage. He came down the aisle they were in and sat down on the other side of Jack, a rare smile on his face. “Hi. Thanks for waiting.”

“Sorry I was late,” Tom said. “Jack said you were brilliant.”

Fionn poked Jack’s arm. “Funny since he fell asleep half way through.”

“Hey, I woke up when the short one started throwing a strop,” Jack said defensively. “The group before you was an absolute mare.”

“So which one is he?” Tom asked, nodding to the other actors standing around.

Fionn’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“Which one of these twats left you that night?”

“Oh.” His neck flushed pink, his eyes darting away. “He’s, um, from a different class.”

“Which class?” Jack asked.

"Why does it matter?” Fionn snapped.

“It doesn’t,” Tom said quickly.

“We can go now,” Fionn said, his voice tight. “I just need to grab my things.”

“You didn’t want to watch the rest?” Tom asked.

Fionn shook his head. “Nah. I’ll get an email when the castings go up. I’m hungry.”

Jack and Tom waited by the front doors while Fionn went to get his bag. Tom pulled out his phone and took a picture of Jack leaning against the doorframe and looking out of one of the window panels, his coat opened to reveal the navy jumper he wore underneath and a peak of his collarbones. Jack was one of those people who were annoyingly photogenic no matter what face he pulled, but Tom still enjoyed capturing these moments when his guard was down. It was very rare to see Jack without a furrowed brow or a slight twist to his mouth.

Which is why he didn’t tell him about Daren. There was enough on their plates without worrying about his ex boyfriend.

But as Fionn walked through the double doors that led from the backstage area, Tom couldn’t help but wonder what Daren meant when he asked Tom to tell Fionn he said hi. With Harry, he knew that was rooted in Harry’s jealousy of Fionn—a reminder that Tom was leaving to meet up with another guy. He wasn’t even so much as thinking about Fionn when Daren materialized.

There was something that Tom was missing, and he planned on finding out what that was.

They ended up at the same pub Tom met Fionn at the other night. Jack went to the bar to say hi to a friend and get their drinks, which left Tom alone with Fionn, who kept glancing at his phone.

“I thought you weren’t going to hear back until later this week,” Tom said, breaking the silence.

Fionn’s head snapped up. “What? Oh. No. I was just—I was expecting a call from my parents.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. Tom decided to let him have this one.

“Can I tell you something?” Tom asked, dropping his voice and sparing a glance to the bar, where Jack stood. “Keep it between us?”

“Yeah,” Fionn said instantly, his phone already forgotten.

“On Friday, I was walking and I…I ran into Daren.” As soon as his ex’s name left his lips, Fionn’s eyes dropped to his phone. Just for a second but it was enough for Tom to notice. He sat back in the booth, folding his arms over his chest. “Now is there something _you_ wanted to tell me?”

"Tom…”

“He mentioned you. Why would he mention you?”

Fionn fiddled with the necklace he always wore—St. Catherine, the patron saint of artists. “We might’ve hung out a couple times.”

Tom felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “ _What_?”

“It was nothing,” Fionn said quickly. “He was just…being friendly.”

“Daren isn’t _friendly_.”

“Okay, fine. We have some mutual friends—“

“Yeah, _me_!”

Fionn’s eyes narrowed. He dropped his necklace. “Are you jealous?”

Was that what this was? Jealousy? “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fionn said flatly. He grabbed his jacket from the booth next to him and started to slide out. “In fact, I’ll be so fine that I’m leaving right now.”

“Fionn—“

“Tell Jack I said sorry.”

Tom’s lips thinned as he watched Fionn push his way through the crowd towards the exit. He watched until he couldn’t anymore and then the reality of what happened started to set in.

Daren had gotten to Fionn. _His_ Fionn. He had managed to infiltrate his life right under his nose. And as Tom started to ruminate on that, everything started to click into place. He’d bet everything in his trust fund that it was Daren that picked up Fionn, got him pissed, and left him at the front doors of A  & E. It explained Fionn’s vague answer when Jack asked who it was, especially since he’s never been tightlipped about a date before, or how he snapped when they didn’t drop it. He wasn’t sure where Daren got that piece of shit car he arrived in, but he didn’t much care if Daren happened to be down on his luck right now.

He didn’t know why Fionn would agree to see him again after what happened either, but that didn’t matter right now.

All Tom could think about was how he was going to fucking kill him if he put a hand on Fionn.

He was getting up when Jack arrived with three pints, his brows furrowed as per usual. “Where’s Fionn?”

"He left,” Tom informed him. “And he’s probably going to meet my piece of shit ex.”

His eyes widened as he set down their drinks. “Wow. I didn’t know you hated Harry that much. I didn’t know Fionn _didn’t_ hate Harry that much.”

“Not Harry,” Tom said. He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his coat. “Daren.”

Jack’s expression clouded. “No.”

“ _Yes_.”

“What the absolute—“

“We’ve got to go after him,” Tom said. There would be time for expletives later. “If they’re meeting, we have to stop him.”

“Why can’t we ever have a nice time out?” Jack asked, lifting his eyes to the ceiling like the answers would materialize there somehow. “Why must everyone have to get involved with the absolute worst people this world has to offer?”

“I ask myself that at least once a day,” Tom deadpanned. He handed Jack his coat and a tenner. “For the beers. Let’s go.”

According to the friend finding app, Fionn was already a step ahead of them and turned off his location. Jack, in his frustration, had to stop at a bench and put his head in his hands for a few minutes while Tom tried to figure out what to do. The problem with cutting Daren out of his life meant that he had no idea what he got up to anymore (clearly). He had no idea where Fionn would’ve met him at—if he was even meeting him at all.

“We need more men,” Tom said. “We’ll cover more ground. When is Ni coming back?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Jack said miserably. “And Barry won’t answer if he’s with Gigi.”

Tom ran his fingers through his hair. “We need to expand our friend group.”

“Well. We do know one person.”

“Who?”

Jack grimaced. “Harry. I’ve been talking to him on and off all day.”

“He’s probably busy,” Tom hedged.

“He’s not. He’d help if we asked.”

“I don’t know…”

“You won’t even have to see him,” Jack said. “We’ll tell him to take the East side and call if he finds them.”

“He doesn’t even know what Daren looks like,” Tom said.

“He knows what Fionn looks like.” The look Jack gave him was a mixture of pity and irritation that he somehow managed to pull off. “I know it’s hard, Tom, but Fionn’s important. Daren’s a right prick. God knows what he wants from him.”

To control him.

To see how much he could get out of him.

 _To get to Tom_.

“Text Harry,” Tom said instead. He was already walking away, as if Harry would somehow appear now that he’s said his name. “I’ll take the North end and let you know if I find them.”

 

* * *

 

Harry

 

Harry was sitting in Alfie’s café working on a paper that was due the next day when Jack texted him.

 

 **Jackie** : We need your help, mate.

 **Harry** : What’s up?

 **Jackie** : Tom’s shite ex Daren is somehow involved with Fionn. We’re trying to find them before the end of the world. Spare a second, would you?

 

He didn’t think twice before he was dropping enough cash on the table—ignoring Alfie’s protests from behind the counter—and grabbing his things. He told himself it was because Jack asked him and not because Tom needed him, too.

 

 **Harry** : What should I do?

 **Jackie** : Take the East side. Call me if you find anything.

 

Harry never was The Thinker in the family. That was his sister. She planned and plotted while Harry got by on luck and coincidence. It used to frustrate her to no end how Harry seemed to just float through life, but he’d do anything to be like his sister right now. It was a stupid idea, really, to get himself involved for a number of reasons.

He had every reason to not be doing this right now, but Harry could only focus on the one reason why he should.

Even though he didn’t know a whole lot about Fionn—he didn’t know much of anything about Tom’s ex either besides the fact that he was an abusive piece of shite—he knew where people went when they didn’t want to be found. Harry tended to gravitate to places where people were their most vulnerable, where the passion and vitality of being alive was at its strongest. He was an observer.

But nothing spoke to his soul quite like Tom Glynn-Carney did.

Harry shook his head, chasing that thought away.

He turned the corner and found himself in the heart of the city. People were usually under the impression that in order to not be found, they needed to find the quietest, most secluded place to be. In reality, it’s the biggest party that you become invisible in.

Tonight, Sean was the bouncer, and he stepped aside as soon as he spotted Harry walking up the queue. Inside, Harry nodded at the people that he knew from his time running with Lee, from class, and then the girl that Niall used to see a couple years ago. Harry was very much a believer in not burning bridges. Niall didn’t share this philosophy—especially considering the way he ended things with aforementioned girl—but Harry supposed that’s why they worked.

“Bro,” Harry said as he approached the DJ booth where Niall was setting up for the night.

Niall’s head snapped up. His mouth curved into an infectious grin when his blue eyes fell on Harry. “You made it! I thought you were studying!”

“I was,” Harry said, “but Jack needed my help. Do me a favor?”

“Duh. What is it?”

“Do you remember Fionn Whitehead?”

“The surly bloke that likes Tom?”

Trust Niall to remember that one detail.

Harry nodded. “If you see him, text me. I’m going to do a circle.”

"Be careful, mate,” Niall called out to him as Harry receded into the crowd that was starting to build.

Because of his height, he was able to scan the crowd without craning his neck too much. A few people—men and women—tried to draw him into a dance, but he smiled politely and shook his head before moving on. He would wait five more minutes before he went to the next club.

The crowd spit him out at the bar, and he braced both hands on the surface before he was slammed into the wood. The longer it took him to find Fionn, the harder it’d be when all of the clubs started to fill with people. Briefly, he wondered if Jack and Tom were having better luck than he was, and then as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he hoped that he found them before Tom did.

 _Why_? his subconscious asked him.

 _To help_ , his brain replied.

 _To be the hero_ , his ego added.

 _To protect him_ , his heart whispered.

He groaned internally; he was such a goner.

There was something about Tom that made all of Harry’s thoughts flowery and earnest, to the point where he hardly recognized himself anymore.

Again, he jumped off of that train-of-thought, barrel rolled, and found himself on stronger ground. He looked from one end of the bar to the other, and when he didn’t spot Fionn’s familiar scowl, he backed away from the bar to make room for people who actually want a drink before there was mutiny. Hardly ten minutes in and he was already sore from all of the elbows jammed into his sides and back. He went to check his phone for a text when something caught his eye near the back of the club, in one of the private booths.

“Hey,” he called out, pushing his way back there. “HEY!”

He didn’t stop to think before he was gripping the shoulder of a complete stranger and pulling him off of Fionn, who stared blearily up at Harry. He shoved the guy, who wasn’t much better, to the ground like he weighed nothing. When he didn’t stir, Harry’s shoulders relaxed. With the toe of his boot, he nudged the guy onto his side. He crouched down and patted his pockets, locating his wallet. Inside, there was some cash, a few cards, and an ID—Cameron Russell. 5’11”. Red hair. Brown eyes. Attempted rapist.

Harry dropped the wallet, not bothering to see where it landed, before he turned to Fionn.

“Fionn,” Harry said softly, gently touching the side of Fionn’s face. He was pale, his eyes unfocused, and panic seized Harry’s heart. “Fionn, it’s Harry. I’m here to take you home.”

“Home?” Fionn repeated.

Harry nodded. “Are you okay? Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” Fionn said before his eyes fell shut, his head rolling to the side.

Carefully, Harry rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and pressed his index and middle finger to where Fionn’s pulse should be. He closed his own eyes, his brow creasing, as he tried to focus on nothing else besides Fionn’s heartbeat.

“Okay,” he said after a second, satisfied. “I’m going to put my arm around you now.”

“Mm.”

Thankfully, Fionn weighed as much as he looked like he would, and Harry held him against his side. This, however, proved to be problematic when he realized he was dragging Fionn’s feet along the dirty, sticky floor.

With a little grunt, he crouched a little and scooped Fionn into his arms. His weight was a little bit more apparent this way, but this protectiveness took over Harry and he barreled his way to the entrance. Sean was still there, and his eyes zeroed right in on Fionn in Harry’s arms.

“What the hell, Styles?” he demanded.

“There’s a guy back there,” Harry said, nodding behind him. “By the private booths. Cameron Russell. 5’11”. Red hair. Brown Eyes. Passed out on the floor. He tried to assault my friend.”

Sean’s whole demeanor changed. It was a scary thing to see a bloke as big as Sean go into beast mode, and Harry was just glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of it. When they stepped outside, Harry leaned Fionn against the brick and kept one hand on him as he pulled out his phone and dialed Jack’s number.

“I’ve got him,” he said as soon as the call connected. “He was at The Shipyard. He wasn’t with Daren though but there was an incident. I wanted to tell you before I called the police.”

“ _The police_? What—“

“He’s okay, I think. Please tell Tom.”

There was a stretch of silence before Jack said, “Okay. Thank you, Harry.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

He ended the call with Jack and dialed 999. He informed the calm woman of what happened, where they were, and that he’d be waiting there with the victim while the club’s security went in to get the assailant. When he finally got off with her, he realized that Fionn was watching him.

“I really didn’t like you,” he said weakly.

Harry slipped his phone in his back pocket. “I know you didn’t.”

“I didn’t think you were good enough for him.”

“I know.”

Fionn’s eyes narrowed but not like he was irritated. More like he was appraising him. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I really do,” Harry said.

“For him?”

“No.”

Fionn nodded, closing his eyes again. This time, he leaned into Harry a little, and Harry knew then that he earned a bit of Fionn’s trust. “My head hurts.”

“Did you want to go to A & E?” Harry asked. As soon as he said it, he felt like a proper idiot for not thinking about that sooner. “Fuck, we should go to hospital—“

“He didn’t drug me,” Fionn said, shaking his head. “He found me like that already. I had too much to drink, but I’m fine. It doesn’t feel like last time.”

Harry bit down on his lip. He wanted to ask Fionn more, but he held back; he was sure the police would be questioning him once they arrived. Already, he could hear the sirens in the background. “I can get you a bottle of water—“

“I’m fine,” Fionn said again. His fingers tightened on Harry’s arm. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t.” Harry wrapped his arm tighter around Fionn so his head could rest on him. When Fionn didn’t resist, Harry used his free hand to check Fionn’s pulse again. It was slower, but Harry thought he’d be fine. At least until the police came and then he’d call a cab to take them back to Jack’s.

 _Jack and Tom’s_ , he mentally corrected himself.

He tore his gaze away from Fionn and looked down the street. Locking eyes with Tom, who was standing a ways away. Harry felt his stomach tighten at the sight of him—a little windblown, his cheeks pink and his hair frazzled. He never looked better, but then again, Harry always thought Tom never looked better than the most recent time he’s seen him.

He turned away.

As much as Harry _wanted_ , he had to deny himself. He went down the list in his head. They wouldn’t work. They were too different. They’ve broken each other’s hearts. Too much happened between them.

And then the real reason:

Tom would never be safe as long as he was in Harry's life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Fionn needs a cuddle and a cup of tea right now. 
> 
> I always want to write in Harry's POV and this chapter felt right. I don't think I'll be doing it again, but I might for an epilogue or something.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But If you loved me,  
> Why'd you leave me?
> 
> All I Want x Kodaline

Thursday – 12 Days After

 

Days later and Tom still couldn’t get the image of Harry holding Fionn out of his head.

Tom didn’t know a lot—his choices these past few weeks have proved that—but he did know that he never wanted to see Fionn like that again. He never wanted to receive a call that said Harry found Fionn at a club and he was going to call the police. He never wanted to stay up until the wee hours of the morning with Fionn to make sure that he didn’t vomit in his sleep. He never wanted to see Harry, his face lined with stress and exhaustion, as he physically had to support Tom’s best friend against a brick wall.

His door opened and Fionn walked back in, holding his sleep clothes in a lump in his arms. He shut the door behind him and dropped his dirty clothes on top of his overnight bag before he came to sit on the edge of Tom’s bed. His mouth curled into a smile when he met Tom’s eyes. “Water pressure’s shite.”

“That’s what you have to deal with if you want to sleep over,” Tom said with a shrug. “What classes do you have today?”

"None,” Fionn said. “You?”

“Just one,” Tom told him. He shut his laptop, which was sat in his lap, and sat it down next to him. “And actually, I should get going.”

Fionn moved aside as Tom started to climb out of bed. “I guess I’ll hang out with Jack. Do some work.”

“That’s a great idea,” Tom said as he grabbed his scarf and started to wrap it around his neck. “I’d be so happy if I came back to a big lunch waiting for me.”

“I’m sure,” Fionn smirked, tugging on the bottom of Tom’s scarf.

Tom bent down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be back.”

 

* * *

 

The thing about wanting is that it never got easier. Tom wanted to dance, but he was held back by his family’s expectations. He wanted to have a car, but someone else decided that he didn’t need one. He wanted to get good marks off of his own merit, but he wasn’t sure his professors believed he could do it himself.

Tom wanted Harry Styles, but Harry Styles didn’t want him.

He did, however, want Tom for other reasons—all of which involved his art. He was hesitant to ask; while the police was interviewing Fionn, Harry and Tom were both adamant that they weren’t going to leave his side. He kept glancing over at Tom until Tom had enough.

 _Out with it_ , Tom said without taking his eyes off of Fionn’s face. Making sure he was okay in case he needed to be rescued.

 _I know this is wrong_ , Harry said, _but your face in this lighting…_

_What about it?_

_You can say no, but I’d like to draw you. If that’s okay_.

And because Tom couldn’t very well say _no_ after Harry rescued Fionn, he said yes.

The warehouse was unlocked when Tom came by, and he pushed open the door and walked in. The lights were off. Tom squinted, trying to see through the blackness.

“Harry?” he called out. He took another step inside. The door swung shut behind him and darkness consumed him.

When Harry didn’t respond, Tom made a frustrated sound and fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He turned on his phone’s torch and pointed it in front of him. Carefully, he made his way further into the building. He hoped he wasn’t about to stumble on a dead body—or worse, Harry’s dead body.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Tom said. He wondered why he didn’t just leave. “I’m going to leave.”

“No you’re not,” Harry’s voice said from somewhere. Tom pointed the torch in the direction he thought it came from but saw nothing but rafters. “Just sit down in that chair.”

“ _I can’t bloody see any chairs_.”

“Use your torch then, Sherlock.”

“Why don’t you just come out from wherever you are?”

“Because. Use your torch. Point it towards the left—over there. Yeah. Find the chair.”

“You’re so weird,” Tom said, but he did as Harry directed. He moved slowly to avoid ramming his shin into anything. He could hear Harry rummaging around somewhere, but he was ignoring him now. After five painful minutes, Tom managed to find the chair and sat down without any real harm happening to him. “Okay, I’m sitting.”

“Glad you remember how to.”

Tom opened his mouth to respond when he heard something click. His brows furrowed just as three balls of red and blue spinning lights started spinning to his left, to his right, and directly in front of him.

Harry stepped into the range of one of the lights, illuminating him with red and blue circles. “Perfect.”

“How can you paint like this?” Tom asked.

“I can’t.” He held up a camera that Tom hadn’t noticed before. “It’s not ideal but I can’t see otherwise.”

“I have to go home soon,” Tom reminded him. The bus ride back and forth cut into his time, and no one would believe his class took over an hour, least of all Fionn, who questioned everything.

Harry nodded as he brought the camera to his face. “I’ll be quick. Be natural.”

“He tells me to be natural,” Tom said with a theatrical sigh. “As if any of this is _natural_.”

“Then let’s pretend—never mind.” He moved around Tom purposefully, the only sound the camera clicking every time he took a picture. He crouched in front of Tom, angling the camera up. He moved to Tom’s right, taking a picture of him in profile. His leg brushed against Tom’s, and Tom tensed.

Clearing his throat, Harry lowered the camera. “I think that’ll do.”

“What’s this for anyway?” Tom asked as Harry went to turn on the lights.

“I was commissioned for another mural,” Harry told him, his voice echoing through the space. “I was stuck trying to figure out what I wanted to do, and the deadline is in a couple months. I want to use this as a base.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “You want to use my face for a mural?”

“There will be other things.” The lights turned on then, and Tom flinched at the sudden brightness. “But you’d be a substantial part of it, yeah. I want to play around with the lights—is that alright?”

Harry was holding the camera like a toddler, balanced against his hip, with furrowed brows as he waited for Tom’s answer. The bright yellow jumper he wore would’ve been hideous on Tom, but Harry still managed to look healthy and glowing, the twat.

“It’s okay,” Tom said. “I’m sure it’ll look fine.”

“Your faith in my artistic ability is overwhelming, Tom. Stop, you’ll embarrass me.”

“Ha-ha.”

Harry looked at something on his phone before he said, “The next bus doesn’t come for another ten minutes.”

“I can wait at the stop,” Tom said as he got to his feet.

Harry scrubbed his hand along the side of his jaw. “That’s probably not a good idea. I’ll make you tea.”

“Is that a better idea?” Tom asked.

“Probably not.” They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the one to tell Tom to go.

Tom focused on the space of wall above Harry’s head. “I could do with a tea.”

“I’ll start the kettle,” Harry said, trying and failing to not sound relieved. He set the camera down and raced up the stairs two at a time to the loft.

Tom took the opportunity to look around the warehouse, doing a fine job at acting like this was normal. They both knew they were on thin ice here. There was an elephant in the room—an elephant shaped like Fionn Whitehead.

After Sunday, Harry didn’t seem to care that Tom and Fionn were whatever they were. When Tom took Fionn’s hand after the police left with that arsehole, Harry didn’t even flinch. He knew there was something wrong about the fact that Harry was so okay with Fionn and Tom.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as Harry came back down with two cups of tea. “I don’t have milk but I can get some—“

“This is perfect,” Tom said, taking the cup from Harry before he could locate a cow. “Thank you.”

Instead of answering, Harry took a drink from his own cup, wincing as soon as it touched his lips. Tom fought back a smile.

“Hot?” he asked innocently.

Harry’s eyes started to tear up but he still managed to toss Tom a dirty look. “Shut up.”

Tom set down his tea. “How can we do this?”

“Do what?” Harry asked.

“Be like this. Like mates. Like nothing happened.”

“Because we have to.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Harry said, “you’re supposed to be with Fionn. And I’m supposed to be okay with that. And you’ll be happy and I’ll be happy that you’re happy.”

“That’s stupid,” Tom said. “Just say you don’t want to be with me, Harry. Just bloody say it and not put that on me or Fionn—“

“Tom, I _can’t_ be with you,” Harry snapped. He shook his head, turning his back to Tom. “I can’t—I want to be friends because I want to be in your life, but I fucking _can’t_ be in your life.”

“But _why_?”

“Because it’s selfish! Because you’re _going_ to get hurt. It’s inevitable—“

“ _Why_? Because of _you_? Because of _Felix_?”

“EXACTLY!” Harry exploded, and like an idiot, all Tom could think about was how Jack said Harry never raised his voice. “Exactly because of Felix! He’s going to go after you, Tom. Because of me, because I pissed him off and he knows how much you mean to me. He’s already fucked with your car, and that was just a warning!”

“I’m not scared,” Tom said. “I don’t care what he does to me—“

“But _I’ll_ care,” Harry said earnestly, grabbing Tom by the shoulders. “I’ll care and that’s what matters. Do you think I want to see you with Fionn? Fuck no. I want that to be _me_. But at least I know that you have Fionn. At least that I know that you care about each other, and he’s a good guy, and you’ll be happy, even if it bloody burns me up inside to know you’re going home to him.”

“So this is just your big sacrifice?” Tom shook Harry off of him and took a step back. “I’m just something that can be passed around, a _thing_ to be protected while you make decisions for me because _you_ know what’s best?”

“Tom—“

“What, and you can sleep at night knowing that you did the right thing? That _Tom’s taken care of_ and you can pat yourself on the back because _you_ have to suffer but at least _I’m happy_? You said you’d fix it that night. I guess this is how you’re fixing it, huh?”

“That’s not—“

Tom held his hand up to stop him. “Fuck that. I don’t need you to make decisions for me, Harry. I don’t need you to _fix_ me. And you know what? I don’t need you in my life at all.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “because we haven’t been here before. It’s not like we’ve never said that we were done with each other—“

“The difference,” Tom said as he grabbed the camera off of the table Harry left it on, “is that this time I fucking mean it.”

 

* * *

 

Tom stared at his bedroom door—his bedroom door that was once Harry’s bedroom door—and wondered what the hell happened to his life. At the beginning of this term, he was facing his final year with solid marks and a good relationship with his professors. His father had potential jobs lined up for him, and he was on the fast track to getting everything he was told he wanted. He had become so good at ignoring that little voice in his head that told him he wasn’t truly happy.

On the other side of that door was his best friend. His best friend, who was waiting for a version of Tom that he couldn’t be anymore. He came home an hour later than he was supposed to because he took a walk around the park to clear his head. After everything he told Fionn at the pub, he still ended up making Fionn his second choice. And not even that—he’d always be reminded that the only reason he was with Fionn was because of Harry. Even that had been tainted.

He opened the door, and Fionn was sat at his desk with his earbuds in, typing on his laptop. His heart didn’t skip when he saw him, but warmth spread in his chest at the sight of his messy curls and holey jumper. Affection. But that wasn’t new information for him; Tom knew he liked Fionn. Maybe he could love him, too, just like he could love Harry. But Harry was there first. He wormed his way into Tom’s heart with a gentle smile and his quiet sincerity.

He knew now that all that stuff Harry said about them not being right, about being too different, was said in his effort to push Tom away—to protect him, as he put it. But there was truth there, hidden under the good intentions and bullshit. All they did was rip each other open. Over and over again until one of them walked away. Fionn wouldn’t do that to Tom; he liked Tom too much. And maybe that was worse because Tom knew it. Maybe that made him as bad as Daren.

He waved his hand in front of Fionn to get his attention. Fionn looked up, taking out his earbuds. “Hey. You’re back.”

“Sorry I was late,” Tom said as he set Harry’s camera down on the desk. “I need to be honest with you.”

“By all means.”

“I wasn’t in class. I went to Harry’s.”

Fionn stared at him. “Okay.”

“I went to see Harry because he was working on this new project,” Tom continued, pointing at the camera. He needed to take the film out and give the camera to Jack to give back to Harry. “But we got into a fight, and I left. Then I went to the park.”

“Okay,” Fionn repeated.

“Fionn,” Tom said, getting down onto his knees. He put his hand over Fionn’s, who didn’t pull away. Instead of feeling thankful, it only made Tom feel worse. “I wanted to make this work after what happened, but it wasn’t for the right reasons. I thought—it doesn’t matter what I thought. Because even this was about Harry.”

“It was easier when I hated him,” Fionn said, mostly to himself. “Things made more sense when I hated him.”

Tom smiled but it was sad—sadness for Fionn, for Harry, for himself. “We can’t do this. And I understand if you’re mad at me. I dicked you around when I should’ve been…more sensitive. I used you—“

“You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t let you do,” Fionn said. “I should’ve known better when you changed your mind so quickly. It was all so sudden after what happened, and I just wanted to see—see what it was like.”

“In another life, it’d be you and me,” Tom said. He wanted that, he realized then. But it was too late for him; Harry got there first.

“This week felt like another life,” Fionn said with a mocking smile.

“It’s my fault that you were drinking,” Tom said, “and that you started to hang around Daren—don’t, Fionn. I know it is. And I can’t be responsible for that. I’m not going to push you towards him.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m going to go home for a little bit,” Tom told him. On the walk back to the house, he arranged things with his professors to complete his assignments online. He supposed he had his father to thank for how accommodating all of them were—for forcing him into cultivating a relationship with all of them, for teaching him how to hold himself and how to get what he wanted from people. “There’s…too much that went wrong here. Everything got messed up. I need to figure out what the next move is.”

Fionn looked down at Tom’s hand on his. “I guess I should figure out how to move on then.”

“You’re still my best mate,” Tom said. “That’ll never change.”

“I know,” Fionn said as he worried a bigger hole into the knee of his jeans. “I guess I just need space.”

Tom nodded, getting back to his feet. “Jack is going to be home all weekend. Don’t push them away, Fionn. If you need me—to talk or to yell—call. I’ll answer. I’ll always answer.”

“You’re good like that,” Fionn said. He rapped his knuckles against the desk before he got up as well, grabbing his laptop. “I’ll grab my things and head out then.”

“Go hang out with Jack downstairs,” Tom suggested. “He’s making dinner. I’m just going to pack and then go down there myself—“

“I’m just going back to my flat to revise,” Fionn said, his mouth twitching. “I’m not going to drink, and I’m not going to meet anyone. I promise.”

“Alright, alright.” He took a deep breath before he said, “I’ll never regret these last few days. Please know that.”

“I do,” Fionn said. “Me, too.”

Tom stepped towards Fionn, and Fionn stepped towards Tom, and they wrapped their arms around each other. And then it was just that simple connection—that physical contact between two people who cared about one another and wanted the other to be happy. Tom gripped the back of Fionn’s jumper, and Fionn cradled the back of Tom’s neck. He could feel Fionn’s heart beating against his.

And he was so grateful. So grateful that Fionn didn’t hate him.

They released each other, and then Fionn was gone, and Tom was on his own again. He went into his wardrobe and grabbed his leather duffle. Sitting it on his bed, he slowly started to pack to go home.

 

* * *

 

He ordered a car to pick him up from the house, an extravagant purchase for Tom but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t have the courage to call his parents to tell them he was coming home, which left him without someone to get him from the station. The driver put his car in the boot, and Tom waved at Jack, who was standing on the porch, before he got in the back.

In his pocket, he could feel Harry’s film pressed against his thigh. Before Tom left, Jack agreed to give the camera back, which meant Tom could now turn the page of that chapter—though it wasn’t even a chapter. His relationship with Harry would be nothing more than a footnote in the novel of Tom’s life. The reality of it filled him with bitterness.

Over an hour later, Tom opened his eyes, and he was staring at the countryside blur by. He sat up, blinking away the sleep. Next to him, his phone vibrated—the reason he was woken up from his nap. He unlocked the screen and tried to focus on the texts from Aneurin and Barry, both wishing him a safe journey home in their various ways.

“Where are we now, sir?” he asked his driver.

The gentleman glanced at him in the rearview. “Another half hour out.”

Tom nodded, turning to look out the window again. A familiar field of wildflowers whizzed by and a thought struck him. “Excuse me, would you mind terribly if we made a stop?”

“No problem. Where to, Mr. Glynn-Carney?”

 

* * *

 

Tom had only been to Alderley Edge Cemetery twice—once to bury his brother and then once more a year after his death.

The car went under the historic gatehouse with its creeping ivy. He could practically hear his mum in the front seat crying softly so she wouldn’t upset Dad. At the time, Tom thought that was so normal—that Mum would try to hide her grief as to not make Dad angry. His father was always controlling, and Tom accepted it because that’s all he knew. Now he knew it for what it was—abuse. Never physical but emotional. Mental. Abuse was abuse. He saw that reflected in his own relationship with Daren.

His parents loved each other. Dad worshipped the ground Mum walked on. He even loved Tom in his own way. But his actions weren’t healthy. Their _family_ wasn’t healthy.

His brother’s grave was on a massive plot of land that his great-great-grandfather bought for the family towards the back with the rest of the richer families in the area. The Glynn-Carney’s weren’t a religious family so there weren’t any crosses or symbols of heaven. Instead, Collin’s grave was a slab of black marble with an inscription on the face in a simple font:

 

Collin Adam Barclay Glynn-Carney

Son. Brother. Friend.

20th November 1992 – 29th December 2014

 

_I’m nobody! Who are you?_

_Are you nobody, too?_

_Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell!_

_They’d banish us, you know._

 

Dad was irritated when he first read the quote Tom picked, but Tom wasn’t wavering. It was one of Emily Dickinson’s more famous poems, but it was also something Collin and Tom shared. They were both resentful of this shiny, gilded world of theirs, tired of being watched and evaluated. Poked and prodded.

When Tom got into college, Collin gifted him a book he made with all of his favorite poems. He highlighted this one and wrote in the margins: _Our little secret_.

There were roses—bright and red despite the frigid air—on the ground in front of the headstone. _Mum_ , he thought. She must have come recently. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she came every day like she used to.

“Long time no see,” Tom said as he lowered himself to the lush grass. He folded his legs in front of him before he leaned forward and pressed his palm to the marble. “Did you miss me?

“I’ve been selfish,” he said, picking at the grass. “I’m sorry. I should’ve come back sooner, but I just—remember when we were kids? And we’d go to the summer home in Tuscany? We would make pasta with the cook and then swim until it was dark and Mum made us come in. There was that—that tree house next door that we’d climb up after everyone went to bed, and we’d read the books you brought.

“I was never happier than I was during those summers. It felt like we were in this secret world where nothing bad could happen. I never thought I’d find that again.” He paused, looking over at the plots that were meant for Mum and Dad. The plots meant for Tom and whatever family he may have in the future. “But I did. I did find that. And Collin, I wish you could’ve met him. When I’m with him…I feel calm. I’m not worrying all the time or keeping up an image. Its just us.”

Tom thought that was one of the hardest things about losing his brother. He wasn’t there for the Big Stuff. And not the graduations or the birthdays: becoming friends with Jack, Aneurin, Barry, and Fionn at uni, and coming out properly, and falling in love with dance again.

Meeting Harry.

“You know, sometimes I wonder,” Tom said after a moment, “what my life would be like if you were still here. A day doesn’t go by where I don’t regret going to that party, Coll. I think that’s why I stayed away for so long. The guilt. And I know what you’d say if you were alive— _don’t be a fucking idiot, Tommy_.”

He almost smiled. It had been so long since someone called him that and it sounded like love. His friends knew he hated when people like George called him Tommy, and they assumed it was because Tom hated when people tried to act familiar, like they had some sort of privilege to do so. They weren’t wrong; they just never had the full story.

After ten more minutes, Tom got to his feet and brushed the grass off of his trousers. He kissed his palm before he pressed it one last time to the marble with the silent promise of visiting more often. He turned to go back to the car and stopped mid-turn.

“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Isaac smiled. “I should be asking you the same thing. Don’t you have classes?”

“Special privileges,” Tom said dryly.

“I see.” Isaac took a few steps closer, and it was then Tom realized he was holding a bouquet.

A bouquet of roses.

“I assumed they were from Mum,” Tom said, nodding at the roses.

“They’re from her garden,” Isaac told him, “but I come here once a week. Whenever my work schedule allows it.”

Tom ran his fingers through his hair. “You make a far better brother than I do.”

“Nah,” Isaac said, smiling widely. “No one could replace you in Collin’s life. Trust me. I just keep him company. Let him know that he was right.”

“Right?”

“Right that I’d hate this life.”

“Anyone could’ve told you that,” Tom sighed. It was his fault too that Isaac was taken off course. If Collin was still alive, they were meant to graduate together and leave—move to America, where Collin would dance in New York and Isaac would open a gallery like he’s always wanted. But when Collin died, Isaac didn’t just lose his best friend; he lost the courage to follow his dream.

“Get out of there,” Isaac said, tapping the side of his head with his index finger. It was something Collin used to do when Tom was younger.

His throat tightened. “I’m sorry that I…that I haven’t been around more. I missed you.”

“Good,” Isaac said. “Because I missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happened! Fionn and Tom got together and then broke up all in the span of 2096 words. Hopefully a little time back home will inspire Tom to think a little bit harder about his actions before he breaks anymore hearts. 
> 
> There was too much drama in this chapter so I ended it and will resume the rest of Thursday in Chapter 16. I'm on winter break now so hopefully this month will be fillllled with writing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round my hometown  
> Memories are fresh  
> Round my hometown  
> Ooh the people I've met yea
> 
> Hometown Glory x Adele

Thursday – 12 Days After

 

Tom pushed open the door and stepped inside. He paused to take his key out of the lock and shut the door before he slipped his coat off. His mum’s car wasn’t in the drive when he was dropped off, which meant she was either at dinner with her friends or at the family’s charity offices like she was sometimes known to do when Dad was at work late.

He left his bag on the stairs and went down the hallway that led to the kitchen. After traveling for nearly two hours, he neglected to eat anything, and his stomach was growling in protest at his poor decision-making.

Oddly, as he walked further into his home, he started to notice that there weren’t any people around. And there were always people around. Usually, at least one person would have greeted him or asked why he was home. There should’ve been lights on or signs of life at the very least.

“Hello?” he called out. “Lucille? Anna? Richard?”

He walked into the kitchen, which was dark besides the lights in the garden glowing through the glass doors. He flipped on the overhead lights. They were new, copper and shaped like cones now, and Tom wondered what possessed his mother to make that particular decision. With a sigh, he went over to the massive fridge and pulled open one of the doors.

Empty.

His brows furrowed. He opened the other side of the fridge, and it was also empty. He pulled open the freezer at the bottom. Empty. The walk-in pantry. Empty. Empty, empty, empty.

Leaving the kitchen, he went up the staircase at the back of the house in search of his parents’ master suite. His mum had two closets: one in their bedroom and a separate room dedicated to her fancier clothes used for balls and galas and other events that Tom tended to avoid if he could help it. It even had a security pad by the door that only she, the maids, and her stylists had the code for. His father, however, only had the closet inside their bedroom.

He opened the door closest to him. Empty. There wasn’t even a spare tie to be found.

Tom went back out into the hallway and opened the hall closet. It still had some spare linens and ski boots and the keyboard Collin never used. Tom scanned the shelves, which were lined with useless knickknacks that were left forgotten for a reason—except, where there should have been their luggage, there was nothing at all.

“Oh my God.” Were his parents not staying here?

He went back downstairs, getting his phone out, and sat down on the bottom step as he dialed his mum’s number.

“Darling!” she greeted. He could hear noises in the background—voices and classical music and fine china clinking. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sitting in the foyer,” Tom said. “At the house.”

There was a long pause, and then the noises in the background faded away to a distant hum, like a door had been shut and blocked it all out. “Pardon? I don’t think I could hear you properly before.”

“I’m at the house,” Tom said, “but I’m not entirely sure if this is my house or if I’ve somehow taken a wrong turn.”

“Why aren’t you at school?”

“I needed a break. Where is everyone?”

Mum sighed. “I’ll be home soon. We’ll talk. I’ll bring you dinner.”

“That’s another thing. What happened to all the food?”

“We’ll talk, darling. I’ll seen you soon.”

“Bye, Mum,” Tom said before he ended the call. He set his phone down on the stairs next to him. He supposed he could go unpack his bag—

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, something else occurred to him. Slowly, he got back up, grabbed his bag, and went up the stairs. His bedroom door had been left opened from whoever was in there last, and he peered inside. His furniture was still in there but the posters and junk that usually lined the shelves were gone. Probably packed away somewhere.

Tom looked away from his bedroom and glanced to the door across the hall. He dropped his bag in front of his door before he went over to the other bedroom. _When was the last time I opened this door?_ he wondered. Before he could stop himself, he turned the knob and swung open the door, the hinges sticking a little from disuse.

His breath caught.

 _Empty_.

The entire room. All of the furniture. All of the keepsakes. They were all gone except for a single box sat in front of the empty built-ins by the bay window. Tom crossed the empty space to it and crouched down in front of it. He pulled open one of the flaps and a sob tore through his throat.

Inside was everything that Tom would’ve kept had he been here when they cleared it all out. Pictures from when they were younger that Collin framed and his old football jersey. The stupid pair of white frames that he kept just because Tom and Isaac hated them. Tom dug a little more, his vision blurring, until his fingers brushed metal, and then he was pulling out Collin’s watch. Brushed gold with a black face—it was a present from their grandfather when Collin turned 18. He wore it every single day. Tom flipped it over and there was the engraving: _Change the world. –G_.

Tom fell back onto his arse, cradling the watch in his hands. Collin wasn’t wearing it the night of the accident. When they were getting together his suit for the funeral, they kept trying to find it but no one could. Collin had to be buried without it.

With a shaking hand, Tom slid it onto his left wrist and clasped it. Despite everything, he laughed, surprised and delighted. At one point, this watch would’ve been too big for Tom, who was four years younger than Collin—but now? Now it fit.

 

* * *

 

He was back downstairs when he heard Mum pull in. Outside, a car door opened and shut. The gravel crunched under the pair of heels Mum was sporting that day. Click, clack, click, clack up the porch stairs.

“Tom, darling,” she said softly as she came in. Her choice greeting. Before, it used to grate on him, but now all he felt was homesickness. “I’m here.”

“In the sitting room, Mum,” Tom called from his spot on the couch.

Mum walked into the sitting room, wrapped in a fur coat with her blonde hair piled on top of her head. In her hand, she clutched a white bag of takeaway. “Thai. Your favorite.”

“Thanks,” Tom said, but he made no move to get up.

She set the bag on the coffee table. “You know I’m always happy to see you, but I have to ask: why are you here?”

“Things aren’t good at school,” Tom told her. He wanted to tell her about Felix and Daren and Fionn, but he didn’t know how. He and his mum stopped speaking the same language three years ago. “After we left Collin’s party, I couldn’t make things better between us.”

Mum sat down next to him, putting her hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry. You will never know how sorry I am that you lost your Harry, my darling.”

“It’s not your fault—“

“But it is. I made you bring him. I—I wanted to be apart of your life, but it was selfish.”

Tom leaned forward, taking his mum’s hand in his. “I understand. I pushed you to it _. I do not blame you for Dad’s actions_. What happened to me and Harry—that might’ve always happened, Mum. There wasn’t something right about us. Maybe it wasn’t the right time or—I don’t know. But I don’t blame you. I never could.”

Her eyes went a little glassy, and it had nothing to do with champagne. “He was so horrible. He said so many horrible things.”

“But are you surprised?” Tom watched his mum’s features intently for a reaction, and as he looked into her eyes, understanding washed over him. “Oh. You’re not surprised. That’s why you’re so upset.”

“I know your father isn’t an easy man to love,” she said, sniffing, “but I do love him. I want him to be the best version of himself but he’s just…he’s so set in his ways.”

“Where is he?” Tom asked. “His things are gone.”

“He’s staying with your grandmother,” Mum told him. She didn’t ask how Tom knew that Dad’s stuff was missing, saving him the trouble of explaining his snooping.

He nudged her with his knee. “And you? Where have you been staying?”

She dipped her head. “It’s a big house—too big of a house—to be alone in. I was staying with Aunt Helena.”

That made sense. Helena was Mum’s best friend that she’s known since she was a girl. She would be the only person Mum would trust with the knowledge that Mum and Dad were having problems.

Sometimes Tom forgot that his mum started off as an outsider; she wasn’t from here and she didn’t go to a prestigious university. She came from money but not the kind of money that has been passed down for centuries like his father. In this town, she didn’t have a lot of people she could trust either.

“I went up to Collin’s room,” Tom said. “When did you clear it out?”

_Why didn’t you tell me? Or include me?_

“The day after the party,” Mum said. “It was time to move on. We’re in the next chapter of our lives, I think. The after mourning chapter.”

Tom nodded, mostly to himself. That was the whole point of why Tom came home—to move on. “What about my room? I noticed some things were gone.”

“How opposed would you be to living somewhere else?”

He blinked at her. “Mum, you can’t sell the house. The house has been in the family for over a century—“

“No, darling,” Mum said, her mouth twitching. “We wouldn’t sell the house. But your father and I are going to spend some time apart, and I can’t live here on my own. I bought this lovely townhouse in town that’s just gorgeous. There were a few renovations I needed to do, and of course, the furniture needed to be ordered. But it’s ready now. And I want you to stay there with me when you’re home.”

“So this is serious?” Tom asked. “You and Dad—“

“We’re working on it,” Mum said. “But right now, we’re working on ourselves first.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a little lightheaded. “Okay I suppose.”

“You should go see your father,” Mum said. When his head snapped up, she quickly added, “When you’re ready. He would like to apologize for his behavior.”

“Why? So he can come home?”

“Tom.”

“I’m not ready to forgive him,” Tom said, “but I’ll hear him out. Not now though.”

“I understand,” she said with a sad smile. She probably knew exactly how Tom felt. Getting to her feet, she grabbed the bag of Thai food. “Let’s eat.”

 

* * *

 

Sunday – 15 Days After

 

Tom spent most of his days in the garden and packing up the remainder of his room and getting to know the woman that gave birth to him again. She spent a lot of time running the family charity: organizing teas and fundraisers and galas to raise money, taking calls from donors, and visiting families that they helped. Like an arse, Tom always assumed his mum didn’t do much, but he could see now that she spent most of her time helping other people.

It was odd, this version of his mother. He was so used to seeing her as vapid and sparkly and oblivious. Blindly following whatever Father wanted from her, even at the expense of Tom. As harsh as that was, it was all he knew of her.

The death of his older brother clearly changed her—changed her priorities. Tom felt ridiculously proud of her. This was the mother he needed, and he might’ve been 21 now, but it wasn’t too late for her to be there now.

“Hey, Mum,” he said as he walked into her office. “I ran out of boxes. Do we have more in the basement?”

Mum winced sympathetically. “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry but that’s all we had left. You’ll have to go into town.”

“Ah, that’s okay. I’ll pick up lunch,” he said. “Are you craving anything?”

“Surprise me,” she said, smiling, before she went back to her computer.

Tom nodded, catching the subtle dismissal, before he walked back out, going to grab his coat and keys. Last night, when they sat in the conservatory and watched the snow, Tom told Mum about what happened to his car. Not all the gory details—not about the drug dealer that wants him dead apparently or the fact that his ex boyfriend was involved with said drug dealer—but she was now aware that he was without a car.

The gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way over to what was now his. It was red, it was ostentatious, and it would most definitely garner much more attention than his last.

 _A bloody Ferrari?_ he asked his mum when she presented it to him. _Mum, I can’t drive a Ferrari. Who do you think we are?_

 _It’s on loan_ , she told him. _Take it back to school with you and when you come back for the holidays, we’ll have you sorted. Do try not to get this one smashed up_.

He slipped on his sunnies and started the car, the engine purring as the car came alive. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his mouth. There was just something about boys and their fast cars.

At the very least, this car didn’t stand out in town like it would back on campus, and Tom didn’t feel uncomfortable as he drove down the main street to the packaging store. The last time he walked these streets, it was under very different circumstances. He couldn’t believe that was over a week ago and not months and months ago.

Harry would’ve loved this car. He could just imagine the look on his face if Tom pulled up driving this car.

But then he remembered how awful he felt that last time he saw him, and every pleasant thought about Harry went right out of his mind.

He found parking across from one of his favorite coffee spots, and he made a mental note to grab a latte after he got his boxes. The packaging store was already decorated for Christmas, and the smell of gingerbread slapped Tom in the face when he pushed open the door. He plastered a smile on his face when the beaming woman behind the counter greeted him, hiding the fact that he completely disapproved of decorating for a holiday that was still a month out.

Wandering to the back, he twirled the keys around his index finger. He only needed a couple more boxes for the remainder of his bedding and clothes, which a lot of he still needed to take to the charity shop. He was surprised with how excited he was to move into Mum’s new townhouse. He’s been going to take a few boxes over, and he had to admit—it _was_ gorgeous. Three stories with Mum’s master suite at the top on the second floor, which left Tom on his own on the first. White, distressed bricks and exposed wood beams. A back garden big enough for Mum’s roses.

Boxes tucked under his arm, he started back to the car to drop them off in the boot before he went to get lunch for Mum and him. He locked the car, the lights flashing twice, and pocketed his keys before he went into the coffee shop. The smell of coffee beans and steamed milk hit him in the face like a caffeinated cloud, and he got into line behind a woman in a floral dress that probably cost more than his rent at Jack’s.

Fleetingly, he wondered when he stopped seeing these things as normal and instead started running numbers in his head as he took in all of the affluence around him.

“Next,” the barista in the maroon apron behind the counter said, staring at Tom.

He stepped forward, his focus snapping back to the present. “Hello, yes, I’d like a flat white and two seared tuna salads with the dressing on the side please. Thank you.”

He handed her his card and waited as she ran it through. He drummed his fingers against the concrete countertops, his eyes trailing along the faces in the shop. Just as his gaze snagged on something, the barista said, “Here’s your card, Mr. Glynn-Carney. We’ll call your name when your food is ready.”

“Thanks, love,” Tom said, taking his card back and slipping a few spare pounds into the tip jar with a lazy grin. For a moment, Tom allowed himself to slip into that old, overly polite version of him, but it felt foreign now. He could practically hear his mates taking the mick out of him if they were here. The smile slipped and he moved away from the counter for the couple behind him.

At the back of the shop, a stunning girl was sat by the fireplace with a book in her lap. Her mahogany colored hair hid half of her face as she leaned towards her book, but Tom would remember that face anywhere.

Tom stopped across from her, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Victoria Harrison.”

She startled, her brown eyes widening as she took him in. “Dear God. Tom Glynn-Carney, as I live and breathe.”

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the chair next to hers.

She nodded, setting her book down on the end table between them. “I didn’t think I’d see you around. Have you graduated already?”

“Nah, I’m on sabbatical,” he told her with a wry grin. “What about you? Last I heard you went to London.”

“London’s not for me, I’m afraid,” she said, shrugging. The picture of nonchalance—except Tom knew her well enough to know when she was lying. There was a story there.

“What happened?” he asked.

Vic sat back in her armchair, crossing her legs. “Where to start? My roommates were terrible. I’d come home to my door left open and my clothes thrown all over because they thought I wouldn’t mind if they used my things since I ‘came from money’. They never stopped to wonder why I’d be dealing with them and not living on my own if I apparently had all of this money.”

Tom scowled. Vic’s parents had money once, but Tom knew better than anyone that, that wasn’t the case any longer. “People have no shame.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It wasn’t all bad with them. Modeling didn’t work out either. I wasn’t going to compromise my own wellbeing to fit their standards. Now I’m just applying to universities to get my degree.”

“If you need a reference,” he said, “my mum would be more than happy to write one. My parents have always loved you—and not just because you were the only girl I’ve ever dated, even if we were just kids.”

Victoria’s mouth curved into a familiar grin. “Oh how I’ve missed you, GC.”

 

* * *

 

Back at the house, Tom dropped Mum’s lunch off to her in her office before he and Vic went up to the media room. The last time Vic was here, she was lying on her stomach with her feet in the air while Tom told her how embarrassing he was whenever Isaac was around. That summer Victoria moved to Brighton when her father was relocated, and they saw each other less and less until Tom went to uni—a fact that horrified his father, who loved Victoria if only for the usefulness she provided in hiding Tom’s sexuality.

He knew she always missed living here, but he never thought she’d come back. He never wanted to get his hopes up.

He tossed a chip at her head. “So. Tell me more about London. The good bits only please.”

“There were definitely good bits,” she said, rolling onto her stomach. Feet in the air. Tom fought back a stupid grin. Years had gone by and yet it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all since they were last together. “It’s like a whole other world. Everything’s so much…faster, you know? It was culture shock but in the best way.”

“Did you meet loads of people?” he asked.

She nodded, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Lots of connections. Maybe one day I’ll be hooking _you_ up with someone, GC.”

Tom knew what she meant, but he couldn’t stop the split second of horror that flitted across his features at her words. Victoria caught it almost immediately, her eyes narrowing.

“Tell me,” she demanded, knowing there was a story just like he did at the coffee shop.

He sighed. “There was this boy.”

“Isn’t there always?” she asked, her tone grave. “What’s his name?”

“Harry.”

“A good name.”

Tom laughed. “What constitutes a good name, Vic?”

“Well the name Harry means protector of the house,” Vic told him. He quirked a brow, and she rolled her eyes. “Remember I was in love with Prince Harry when we were kids? Anyway, it’s a good name. What happened?”

“I met him on the bus,” Tom confided, finally— _finally_ —telling the truth. And just like that, the rest of the story came tumbling out. Victoria listened intently, nodding and laughing and shaking her head at the appropriate times. When he got to the part about his dad, she sat straight up, her nostrils flaring. Tom had to stop and waited while she ranted about how much of a dick Dad was, his chest warm with affection for this girl. She hadn’t seen him in over three years, and here she was, ready to fly into battle to defend his honor.

By the end of Tom and Harry’s sad tale, Tom’s head found its way on Victoria’s lap, her fingers playing with his hair. “Wow,” she said after a moment of silence. “I feel so sad for your friend Fionn.”

“Me, too,” Tom said. “He deserves better.”

“I can’t blame him for being hung up on you,” she said, booping his nose. He crossed his eyes up at her, making her smile. “You’re a catch, Tom. You know you are. Otherwise your university experience wouldn’t be a bad Shakespearean play right now.”

“A regular tragedy,” Tom deadpanned. “What’s my fatal flaw?”

“You try to please everyone,” she said. She wasn’t wrong—between his dad, his friends, and Harry, Tom had a terrible record of trying to make everyone happy and forgetting to think of him, too. “It’s what makes you such a good tragic hero. The audience wants to root for you.”

“Lord knows why. I’ve made a right mess of everything.”

“It sounds like you all did. Have you talked to him?”

“Who?”

“Prince Harry.”

Tom caught her hand, inspecting the faint scar that ran down her palm. They were eight. Victoria talked him into taking a blood oath, swearing they’d be mates for life. He had a matching scar on his own hand. “Not since the last time I saw him.”

“Do you want to?” she asked.

 _Did_ he want to? All he could think about was how angry he was that Harry thought he could make all the decisions regarding their relationship without considering Tom’s feelings. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You’re graduating this year, right?”

He nodded, a feat considering where his head was. “Why?”

“What about after?” she asked. “Are you going to work in your dad’s office?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Hell no.”

“Then what?” she pressed. “Are you coming back here? Living with your mum in her pretty new townhouse?”

Tom wrinkled his nose. As much as he loved his mum and enjoyed this time with her, he couldn’t imagine living with her for more than a few weeks at a time. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead about this either.”

“What _have_ you thought about then? Don’t you need to be working on internships or something?”

“Well, I was meant to talk to my professor but—“

“But your life got in the way,” she finished. He didn’t say anything, and she took that as encouragement to keep going. “Far be it for me to give anyone advice on their futures when mine is positively grim, but I love you, Tom. I want you to be happy. And I don’t think a future in law or politics will make you happy.”

Tom thought of Isaac, who looked absolutely miserable at the cemetery with other day. “Neither do I.”

“Close your eyes,” she said. When he didn’t, she sighed and put her hands over his face. “I mean it. Close them.”

“Okay.” He wiggled his shoulders to get more comfortable. “Now what?”

“Visualize your life. Not this life but five years from now. Ten. Picture where you are and what you’re doing—oi, I can feel your disapproval through my hand. Loosen up a little. Empty your mind and picture it.”

Tom sighed, but he did as she said. He let his thoughts slowly slide away, leaving nothing but blissful blankness in their wake. He felt his muscles loosen, and he turned his face away from Victoria.

He was standing in a flat—a studio that overlooked the Thames. Tom never considered living in London, but he thought he might like it. It was small, but he could afford it on his own, and there was more than enough space for him. He had a job he loved—teaching dance. He’d go to Fionn’s plays, and Jack would come into the city and visit. Barry would be happy and safe—probably married to Gigi if they all had anything to say about it. And Aneurin would go to America like he always wanted to. He’d never remember to call, but he’d always answer.

And Harry was there. In every scenario, in every world, Harry was there.

He was so angry still, but despite everything, he knew what he wanted. 

Tom opened his eyes, and Victoria’s hands were already gone. She was smiling down at him expectantly, like she already knew what he was going to say before he said it. “I don’t…I don’t want to be a barrister. I don’t want to work for my dad.”

Vic smoothed his hair from his forehead. “What do you want?”

A tear slid down his cheek. “I want to be happy.”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “Go find your happiness, Tom.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were lacking some serious girl power, and my mind conjured up Victoria to combat that problem. I love her dearly, and even though I never planned for her, she's definitely going to make more appearances. 
> 
> Like I said before, I'm officially on winter break so maybe I can have a more set update schedule for the next month or so. Will keep y'all updated!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm reaching out to you  
> Can you hear my call?  
> This hurt that I've been through  
> I'm missing you, missing you like crazy
> 
> Lay Me Down x Sam Smith

 

Tuesday – 17 Days After

 

Tom was sat in his car a little ways away from the house, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He would’ve went in, but he received a text when he was pulling onto the street that asked if he was going to be home soon because Jack needed the house for another half hour or so. Tom, being nosy and having nowhere else to be, decided to stake out his own home while he waited for the okay.

He slipped his sunnies over his hair and pursed his lips as he stared at the front door. There weren’t any cars parked in front of the house, but then again, there were never cars parked in front of this house.

His phone started ringing in the center console, and he didn’t keep his eyes off of the house as he grabbed it. “’lo?”

“Did you get back alright?” Vic asked. The two exchanged numbers that morning before Tom left. It was ridiculous that they lost touch so dramatically that he no longer had a number for her in his phone. She made him promise to text when he got in, but since he hadn’t actually gotten in yet, he’d neglected to do so.

“Technically,” he said. “Jack’s told me to wait.”

“You don’t know why?”

“I asked but he never messaged back.”

“Just go into the bloody house, GC. You pay rent, don’t you?”

“Blimey, Vic. I can’t just charge in there—oh, hold on. Something’s happening.” He slid lower in his seat, thankful that no one knew this was his car for now.

“What’s happening—“

“Shh.” The door opened, and there was Jack, too far away for Tom to make out his expression. “I see Jack.”

“Which one is he?” Vic whispered.

“The Scottish one. Why are you whispering?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said at the normal volume now. “Felt right.”

Tom snorted. “Okay, he’s stepping aside—“ His brows furrowed. “I’m not entirely sure who that is with him.”

“Describe him,” Vic told him.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not there.”

Tom rolled his eyes but obliged. When he was younger, he loved to indulge Victoria’s whims; apparently, age hasn’t made a difference in this habit. “He’s, er, tall. Taller than Jack at least. Blonde, I think. Darker than my hair—“

“What’s he wearing?”

“I dunno. A bomber. Beanie cap.”

"What about your mate’s body language?”

“He looks tense, but Jack always looks tense. It’d be weirder if he didn’t.”

He could hear Victoria huff out a sigh. “You are so dense, GC. Get out of the bloody car and go help your friend.”

“Why?” Tom asked. “He told me to stay away.”

“What if he’s in trouble?”

“Jack’s a big lad. I’d just get in the way.”

“ _Men_ ,” he thought he heard her mutter. “Fine. I’ve got to go. I’m meeting your mum for tea. She’s done the recommendation.”

Tom smiled. “Good. I’m glad you asked her.”

“Me, too,” Vic said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Send Mum my love,” he said. “And I love you, too. Even if you are going to get me into loads of trouble when you get here.”

“It’ll be the most fun you’ve had in ages, GC. Love you. Be careful,” she said before she clicked off.

Tom smiled fondly down at his phone, as if it were Vic herself and not a hunk of plastic and metal, before he once again did as she said and went to see if Jack needed a hand. His mate was still on the front steps talking to the guy Tom’s never seen before, but as soon as Tom slammed his door shut, Jack’s attention snapped right to him.

“What are you doing here?” Jack demanded, taking a step down.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Tom said dryly.

Jack’s gaze flickered to the car. “Bloody hell.”

“Is this the famous Tom?” the stranger asked, looking from Jack to Tom. His gaze was unsettling, and Tom paused. Now that Tom was really paying attention, it seemed as if Jack was angling his body in front of the other guy—almost as if he was blocking Tom from his view. “I’ve been wondering when I’d finally meet the king. Dear Harold has been putting off our introduction for _ages_.”

“Oh,” Tom said, feeling rather thick. He was never listening to Vic again, even if she couldn’t have possibly known. “You’re Felix.”

Felix’s grin widened, a Cheshire cat who had just found his Alice. “That I am, Tom Glynn-Carney. Let’s chat.”

 

* * *

 

It occurred to Tom ten minutes into this uncomfortable meeting that Tom was sat opposite the man that busted Harry’s face and nearly ruined Barry’s life. Then, the reminder that he also destroyed Tom’s beloved car with a golf club sliced through him and his discomfort started to mingle with hate.

Jack hovered nearby, his arms folded over his chest like a bodyguard. He alternated between worry and irritation—irritation that Tom didn’t listen and stay away—and Tom alternated between telling him to go away and begging him to stay with him.

And between Felix ordering Jack to bring him a snack and him leering at Tom, Tom managed to text Harry:

 

**Felix @ Jack’s**

 

As far as texts went, it was pretty shite, and Tom would be annoyed if he was on the receiving end of such a cryptic message, but he didn’t want Felix to see. The very last thing anyone needed was for him to get his hands on Tom’s phone, where all of his messages to Harry were still readily available.

“So,” Felix said after he finished one of the cookies Jack brought him, “that’s a right fancy car, Tommy boy. What happened to the other one?”

“Some idiot got lost going to the golf course,” Tom said evenly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jack scrub his hand along his beard.

Felix’s mouth curled into what might’ve been a smile but looked a lot more like a sneer. “Too bad. Just as well that Daddy’s good for it, huh?”

Tom’s own smile was brittle. “Yeah, good thing.”

“Let’s just get down to it, Tommy,” Felix said, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “I know you paid off good ole Barry’s debt, and I have to tell you—I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit. You see, it was Barry’s debt to pay, and we had worked it all out. He was going to do me a bit of work, and I was going to enjoy the fruits of his labor without worrying about hiring another moron I can trust.”

Tom’s hands were fists at his sides. He could feel Jack’s own anger radiating off of him. “You got your money either way. I don’t see how your lack of trustworthy employees is my problem.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Felix said, leaning forward. There was a cross hanging from his neck, and Tom wondered how religious a man like Felix could be. “Funnily enough, Harold said the same. That lad—he sure worries about you, doesn’t he? Always going on about how innocent you are in all of this, how I’ve no use for you. When you showed up at his place the other day, he even let you believe that I was some bloke he was dogging all to protect you! How protected did you feel, Tommy?”

Tom felt sick. All this time, he thought—it didn’t matter what he thought. Now wasn’t the time. “What do you want from me?”

“Cut right to the chase,” Felix said, nodding, “I like that. As you know, I’m looking to expand my businesses. Need money to do that, don’t I? And I know firsthand that if anyone has that kind of money, it’s you, Glynn-Carney.”

“I’m not a cash machine,” Tom snapped before he could stop himself.

Jack cut in then, clearly having enough of this conversation. “Felix, I think it’s time you—“

“What the fuck are you doing, Lee?” All three boys turned to the front room, where Harry had thrown the door wide open. A burst of cold air arrived with him, but Tom’s attention went elsewhere.

“Harry—your—your hair—“

He had cut it. Tom could now see Harry’s little poky ears and the back of his tanned neck. Harry ran his fingers through the shorter strands, the tips of his newly revealed ears turning pink. “Yeah.”

“I’m just getting to know Tom,” Felix said, smiling up at Harry. He didn’t even look remotely threatened by him. “You never mentioned how _fit_ he was, bro.”

“Stop,” Harry said. “We had a deal. You said you’d leave it.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” Felix said. He nodded to Jack. “This one was trying to give me the run around, but Tommy came home just in time. Ain’t that right, Jack?”

“Don’t,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

“What deal?” Tom demanded, looking only at Harry. “What did you do?”

“Harold said he’d take Barry’s place,” Felix answered, clearly amused at the chaos he’s created. “He’s coming home, he is. Where he belongs.”

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” Harry snapped.

“No,” Tom said automatically. “Harry, you can’t.”

“You can always pay to free him,” Felix smirked. “Then we’ll see if there are any other men that you’d be willing to pay for, like the lovesick idiot you are—“

“That's enough,” Jack snapped. “Get the fuck off of my couch and out of my house _now_.”

Felix got to his feet, still smiling like Jack hadn’t just yelled at him. To Tom, he said, “We’ll be seeing each other very soon, I think.”

When the door closed behind him, Jack made sure to lock it and then went to the window, presumably to make sure he stayed away from Tom’s car. “A fucking _Ferrari_ , Tom.”

“It’s on loan,” Tom told him. “I’m not keeping it.”

“ _That’s yours_?” Harry asked.

“It’s a _loan_ ,” Tom repeated. He resisted the automatic urge to ask Harry if he wanted to drive it. “I don’t know how my mum acquired it.”

“Either way, it needs to go,” Jack said. “Felix knows it’s yours now.”

“You’re not working for him,” Tom said to Harry, ignoring Jack. “Not for me.”

“And you’re not going to be his bank,” Harry shot back. “Not for me. All Felix wanted was me back. Well, he’s got it.”

Tom pointed at the chair Felix was just sat on. “He’s not going to leave me alone no matter what you do or offer. Today proves that.”

“Maybe once I start, he’ll lay off,” Harry hedged, but Tom was shaking his head. At this point, Jack had gone back to watch from the window, like he wanted to make sure Felix left them alone but also didn’t want to be apart of this conversation.

“He won’t,” Tom said. They both knew that Tom was right. Felix was clearly not all there, and this game that was developing between all of them was too good for him to pass up.

"Then we’ll find another way to beat him,” Harry said, squaring his shoulders. He looked so much softer with his hair short—not any less handsome, but he was different version of himself. Tom wasn’t sure how he felt about it. “Together. We’re going to beat him, Tom.”

Tom looked away from Harry because he had nothing to say and because it hurt too much to look at him still. “Are you going to fix it again?”

"Tom, please.”

“Felix told me he was the one at the warehouse that day. You let me believe you had someone over.”

Harry glanced at Jack, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to them—or at the very least was doing a good job at pretending like he wasn’t. “I needed you to leave.”

“Well I’d say you did a bang up job.”

“I’m tired of fighting,” Harry said, and he really did sound tired. Now that Felix was gone, Tom took the opportunity to really look at Harry and not just his hair.

“Have you been sleeping?” he asked, noting the bags under Harry’s eyes. He never bruised like Tom did, or Fionn, who were both pale compared to Harry, but his eyes did become noticeably puffier whenever he needed more sleep.

Harry shook his head. “Where did you go? After you left the warehouse.”

“I’m going up to my room,” Jack announced, not bothering to wait for a response before he shot up the stairs.

“I went home,” Tom told him after a moment. “I spent some time with my mum.”

Harry’s brows shot up. “Just your mum?”

“Dad’s not home at the moment,” Tom said. Harry waited for Tom to say more, but Tom wasn’t willing to air his parents’ dirty laundry—even if what happened to Harry was the catalyst. “I took it one parent at a time.”

“Right,” Harry said. “I, uh, ran into Fionn the other day. He said you ended things.”

Tom’s mouth thinned. He didn’t know Fionn did that; he didn’t even know Fionn saw Harry in the first place. “There wasn’t a whole lot to end yet.”

“Still,” Harry said, “you liked each other a lot…right?”

Tom arched a brow. “Are you fishing?”

“I’m just—“ He ran his fingers through his hair again, letting out a frustrated laugh. “I hate this. I fucking hate this. I don’t know…I don’t know what to say. When you texted me, I thought I was hallucinating. I never thought you’d talk to me again. Not after last time.”

“When I was home,” Tom said, “I reconnected with an old mate. She helped me figure some shit out.”

“Yeah?” Harry managed to make that single word sound a whole lot like hope.

Tom held his gaze. The more he looked at Harry, the more he thought he liked this shorter hair. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Even though Tom wanted to stay at Jack’s with Harry, Jack, and Aneurin, who showed up a couple hours after Felix left, he had something to do.

He parked in the student lot and looked both ways before he hurried across the intersection. The buildings were starting to become decorated for the holidays—it couldn’t be helped this premature decorating, not in England at least—and even Tom had to admit there was something romantic about the fairy lights against all of the aged brick. There weren’t as many students around at this time, but he wasn’t interested in seeing other students.

Professeur Bianca Perrin was an ex ballerina, who at one time danced for the Paris Opera Ballet, and now taught students like Tom how to become dancers like Baryshnikov. She was a terrifying thing to behold when she danced—all lean muscle and dark, imperious brows with her lips painted into a deep red scowl at all times. Usually, it was their instructor—a graduate student who had aspirations of dancing in London—that led the class, but when Professeur Perrin stepped in, they all paid attention. Tom touched his thumb to the ring Harry made him, which he put on that morning for the first time since they broke up, and willed himself some courage.

He cleared his throat. “Professeur Perrin. Comment allez-vous?”

“Ça pourrait être pire. Et toi?” She lifted those infinitely black eyes to him, and he resisted the urge to bolt down the hall.

“Très bien, merci,” he said. His French was a little rusty, and it didn’t help that her accent, still perfect after all of this time in the UK, was even more intimidating compared to his own paltry pronunciation. Collin had the ear for languages, not Tom. “May I come in?”

Her mouth twitched. “Oui. If you must.”

He stepped inside her office, shutting the door behind him and trapping him inside. He felt like a cornered animal, especially when Professeur Perrin looked at him over her glasses like that. “As you know,” he started, “internships for next term are rare. I’m sure you’ve had many applications—“

She took her glasses off, taking the time to fold them and place them into the shiny, leather case. “Are you turning one in, Monsieur Glynn-Carney? I was not under zee impression that you were interested in pursuing a degree in dance.”

“I’m not,” Tom said, “or, I mean, I wasn’t.”

“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I wasn’t interested in the position before, but I am now. I’ve had a change of heart. So as long as Henry isn’t in the running, I’d like to throw my name into the ring.”

“Monsieur Fernley has not applied for zee position, no. Even the most talented of dancers are not always meant to teach. What of your other professors? Have you not been applying for zee other internships available to you?”

“I won’t say that I haven’t been offered other placements,” Tom said, “but I want to earn the one that I end up with.”

Professeur Perrin folded her hands together on top of her desk, looking Tom up and down like she wasn’t entirely sure if he was still the boy she knew from class. “I see. I’ve always found your interest in dance very…intriguing, Tom. Especially considering the demand for you in other fields. We’ve never spoken about it before, have we? Tell me now. Why dance?”

“My brother did ballet,” Tom told her before he lost the nerve. “He had aspirations to dance in New York before he passed. He was always naturally better than I was, but he taught me everything he could. I do it for him. To feel closer to him. It’s where my heart is.”

“But is it where your passion is?” Perrin pressed.

“Yes,” Tom said immediately. “It’s the only thing I see myself doing.”

He could’ve sworn she almost smiled, but it could’ve been a trick of the light. “Then I’ll take your interest into consideration. Submit a formal application to Andrea by the end of the week. A decision will be made by Monday. Is that all?”

“Yes,” Tom said as he inched towards the door. “Merci, Professeur Perrin.”

“De rein,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal as she went back to her paperwork. “Bon courage. Bonne soirée.”

“Bonne nuit,” Tom said before he let himself out. As he walked down the stairs, he resolved to ask his mum to help him brush up on his French. If he was going to work closely with Perrin, he definitely needed to work on a few things and the few phrases he knew were not going to cut it.

Back at the house, Tom unlocked the front door and walked inside, greeted by the familiar sounds of Guy Mowbray and Jacqui Oatley discussing the play Chelsea just made. Apparently, Barry had joined the group now because he was wedged between Jack and Harry, his head on Harry’s shoulders. He looked up at Tom, his mouth pulling into an unsure smile.

“We’re good,” Tom assured him. “We’re always good, mate.”

Harry patted Barry’s knee. “Told you.”

Jack leaned around Barry and smirked at Harry. “You’re such a no it all, Styles.”

“We’ve got snacks, lads,” Aneurin said as he walked back into the room from the kitchen, carrying two plates of what looked like nachos on one and chips on the other. “Harry, I left out the vinegar as requested.”

“You’re a saint,” Harry said, smiling widely at Aneurin as he set down the plates on the coffee table. Almost immediately, all three of them leaned forward and started attacking the food while Aneurin flew back into the kitchen, promising to come back with beers.

Tom leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold. All of his friends, even Jack, who was the first to express dissent at their relationship, accepting Harry into their group like it was the most natural thing in the world. If Tom didn’t know better, he would’ve thought this was how it always was. Harry laughed at something Jack said, throwing his head back, and when he looked up, he caught Tom watching him.

Without a word, he untangled himself from Barry and crossed the room to Tom. He held his hand out to him and waited, patient and a little apprehensive. Tom’s eyes flickered up to his for a brief moment before he put his hand in Harry’s. Behind Harry, his friends were busying themselves with the food, and Tom was grateful that they were giving them this moment instead of inserting themselves into it.

Harry gave Tom’s fingers a squeeze before he opened the front door and led him back out onto the front steps.

“Hi,” Harry said, leaning against the railing.

Tom wrapped his arms around himself. “Hey.”

“Did you do what you needed to do?” Harry asked.

“I did,” Tom said. “Have a good time with the boys?”

“I did,” Harry said with a small smile. “They’ve been great.”

“I feel like I need to apologize,” Tom said. “For how I’ve acted. There’s been a lot of miscommunication between us, and it all started because of what happened at my family’s party—before that even, because I’ve been lying for a long time.”

“I don’t blame you for that,” Harry said. “It was wrong of me to. But I do wish you told me.”

“We keep breaking each other's’ hearts,” Tom said, “but I think it’s because you’ve got mine. And I’d still trust you with it, Harry. You’re the only person I’d trust with my heart.”

Harry pushed off from the metal railing, the toes of his boots touching the toes of Tom’s. “And this is what your friend helped you figure out?”

“Amongst other things.” To be this close to Harry again without being near tears felt unreal to Tom. He wanted to reach out and twist his fingers into the fabric of Harry’s shirt, but he held back. “What about you? Still trying to protect me?”

“It’s clear that that was a brief lapse in judgment on my part,” Harry said. “I’m sorry I thought I knew what was best for you. All I did was hurt the both of us.”

“When did you forgive me?” Tom asked. “For what happened. Since I know now that you didn’t mean what you said when I went to see you the next morning.”

“About an hour or two after you left Jack’s,” Harry admitted. “I was really upset. I’m not going to lie. It _felt_ like I hated you. But deep down, I knew that type of anger wouldn’t last long. Not with you, Tom.”

“These past couple weeks have been some of the worst of my life,” Tom said. “Can we promise not to do this shit anymore?”

“I’ll do anything you want,” Harry promised, and Tom remembered how endearingly earnest Harry could be. “I don’t want to go another day without being with you if that’s alright with you. I’ve given up too many already.”

Tom reached out and grasped the hem of Harry’s shirt. “No one to blame but yourself.”

“I don’t deny that,” Harry said with a little smile. “Now what?”

His eyes searched Harry’s face as he stared down at Tom. Even now, when they were in this in between place, Tom felt like he really could love this man if given the chance.

And he really wanted that chance.

“Now you should come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need you guys to know that any and all French was from either 1) Google Translate or 2) my friend who took French during our freshmen year of college. If it’s incorrect, don’t tell me because I might cry from shame, and I don't plan on using any more French in any future chapters. 
> 
> Anyway, guys!! We're almost to Chapter 20! I said before that I don't have a set number of chapters, but we don't have that much longer to go before the end. I'll probably update this weekend, but if I don't, I hope everyone has a lovely holiday! If you don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a lovely Sunday/Monday.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O my Luve is like a red, red rose   
>  That’s newly sprung in June;   
> O my Luve is like the melody   
>  That’s sweetly played in tune. 
> 
> A Red, Red Rose x Robert Burns

Thursday – 19 Days After

 

Tom felt a weight pressing him into the mattress. He tried to shift, but his legs were trapped. His eyelids fluttered open. “It’s early.”

Harry’s nose brushed his. “It’s never too early.”

“Jack will hear,” Tom said, though his finger trailed down Harry’s spine. “This won’t bode well when we make a case for you moving back in.”

“Either way he’ll have to deal with sleepovers,” Harry said. His elbows rested on either side of Tom’s head, and he leaned in to kiss the side of Tom’s mouth. “I’ll behave. He has class in half an hour anyway.”

“Your making up for last time is making it hard to get out of bed,” Tom said as he brushed Harry’s hair out of his eyes. Now that it was shorter, it tended to flop onto his forehead more. Tom didn’t mind at least; it gave him an excuse to touch Harry’s hair more. “We can’t stay locked in here forever. We spent all of yesterday in bed. I have _classes_.”

“Oh _those_ ,” Harry said. “Can’t you manage one more day?”

“I’ve been out for a week,” Tom told him. “I need to catch up. The term is almost over. Exams are soon and—“

“Tom,” Harry said. “Chill.”

Tom wiggled underneath him. “I can’t. I need to finish my application.”

“And _I_ need to start on a mural but _someone_ took my subject.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Tom leaned over the side of the bed, and with a grunt, pulled open the drawer to the nightstand. “I’ve still got the film.”

Harry took it from Tom, staring at the little black roll like he wasn’t sure it was real. “You kept it?”

“I didn’t want to,” Tom said. “I meant to toss it out just to spite you but I couldn’t.”

“Well, thank you,” Harry said before kissing Tom’s forehead. “I should go start this now—“

“Hey,” Tom said when Harry tried to roll off of him. He wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, keeping him in place. “Why do you get to bother me when _I_ have things to do, but you get to just leave when _you_ have things to do?”

Harry smiled. His hand slipped under Tom’s shirt. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I’m considering it,” Tom said, craning his head to press a kiss to the underside of Harry’s jaw. He could hear Harry hum contentedly, the sound vibrating down his throat. “Would you?”

“All you have to do is ask,” Harry said as he pressed his lower body into Tom, letting Tom feel just how much Harry wanted to stay.

Tom’s fingers slipped down the waistband of Harry’s pants. “We’ll be quiet, right?”

“Oh absolutely,” Harry grinned before he dipped his head to kiss Tom.

 

* * *

 

Saturday – 21 Days After

 

Tom and Fionn huddled together on a bench with Tom’s scarf wrapped around both their necks. Out on the football pitch, Jack was stretching while Barry ran around him getting chased by Aneurin, whose cleat he stole. Harry and Niall were off to the other side, passing the ball back and forth in an effort to properly warm up.

“This is bloody ridiculous,” Fionn mumbled under his breath, which puffed out in a cloud of white. He glared at where it disappeared like it had personally offended him. “Why can’t we ever do anything fun? Or at the very least warm.”

“I brought the hot Ribena,” Tom said, nodding to the thermos. Usually, he would’ve brought cider or mulled wine, but Fionn was trying to stay off of the drink and all of them were trying to as well out of solidarity. “We’ve got blankets.”

“Why aren’t you playing?” Fionn asked.

“I can’t get injured.” Yesterday, he turned in his application for the internship position during class, which meant the next step was the audition, should his application be picked.

Fionn’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“I—“ Tom looked away. He forgot he never told his friends about the dancing; he thought it was enough to tell them about Collin without overwhelming them further. He'd tell them if he got the internship; otherwise, what was the point? “I’ve got to drive the car, remember? Mum would be pissed if I let you lot get behind the wheel.”

“Then who’s going to be on Harry and Niall’s team?”

“Dunno. Harry said he had a friend coming.”

Speaking of Harry, he broke off from Niall and jogged over to where Fionn and Tom were sitting. Even if Tom was freezing, he had to admit seeing Harry in his football kit was worth it. His long socks were pulled up over his calves, and his shorts were much shorter than everyone else’s, revealing the panther he had tattooed on his thigh every time it rode up.

“Our friend Richard is having trouble,” Harry said as he sat down next to Tom and lifted his foot onto the bench to fix his shoelace. “Fionn, would you mind going to help him? He doesn’t know how to get in.”

Tom frowned at Harry as Fionn nodded, unwrapping Tom’s scarf from around his neck. “Sure. What’s he look like?”

“He’s wearing a green jumper,” Harry said with a smile. “Thanks, bro.”

As Fionn trailed back up the path to the front gates, Tom poked Harry’s side. “What was that about?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’d you just send Fionn to get _your_ mate?”

Harry shrugged before leaning in to kiss Tom’s cheek. “No particular reason.”

“Harry!” Tom called after him as his boyfriend jogged back to join Niall by the goal. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as Harry said something to Niall, who nodded and looked over at Tom, biting his thumbnail.

The gate creaked, and Tom looked over his shoulder as Fionn walked back to the pitch with who was presumably Richard walking beside him. Fionn glanced up when Richard leaned in to say something to him, and Tom watched as his friend’s face turned a deep shade of red.

Now _that_ was interesting.

“’lo,” Richard greeted with a friendly smile as they approached Tom. He was tall, much taller than Fionn, who came up to his shoulder, and he had floppy black hair that curled around his ears. He looked like the sort of person that everyone wanted to talk to. “I’m Harry’s friend, Richard. You must be Tom.”

“That I am,” Tom said as Fionn sat back down next to him.

“I’ve heard so much about you. All good things,” he promised when Tom arched a brow. “Harry dragged you along to make you suffer in the cold?”

“It’s a hard life being the supportive boyfriend,” Tom said solemnly, ignoring Fionn’s fidgeting beside him. “How do you know Harry?”

“We’ve had classes before—“

“Tran!” Niall called out. “Get your arse over here and stretch!”

“We’ll talk,” Richard promised Tom. He squeezed Fionn’s shoulder before he went to join his mates, pounding his fist against each of theirs in greeting.

Tom turned to Fionn. “Okay, what was that?”

“What was what?” Fionn asked as he pulled the blanket back over his knees.

“You were _blushing_.”

“I was not.”

“You definitely were.”

“He’s nice,” Fionn said, shrugging and avoiding Tom’s eyes. “We had a nice chat on the way back to the pitch. That’s all.”

Tom bit back a smirk. Now he knew what Harry was playing at. “How very _nice_.”

"Yup.” Fionn’s gaze was firmly set on the match now, which was starting thanks to Richard’s arrival.

Tom was biased, but he knew that Jack, Aneurin, and Barry didn’t stand a chance against Harry and Niall. He wasn’t even sure of Richard’s prowess on the pitch, but it didn’t matter; what Harry lacked in natural skill, he made up for in enthusiasm, and Niall was good enough for the both of them despite his bum knee. His own mates were good separately, but if they were in primary school, all three of them would be sent home with notes attached to their bags that read DOES NOT PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS.

All you had to do was watch Harry and Niall play together for five minutes, and you’d see how much they understood each other. They seemed to anticipate each other’s moves, easily getting around Barry, who was red faced after Jack barked at him to pay attention. Tom shook his head.

“He always does this,” Fionn said, on the same train of thought as Tom was. “He always gets on Barry’s case and gets in his head.”

“I’m pretty sure our collective conscience is in Jack’s voice.”

Fionn shook his head. “Why do they insist on playing with each other? They’re rubbish. Niall’s scored on them twice already and the match has just started.”

“It builds character, I suppose.”

“No, it means we’re going to have to separate them when this is over.”

“Richard’s quite good,” Tom noted. He was standing in the goal, leaning forward and slightly crouched as his eyes followed the ball. “I wonder if he plays for the university.”

“He plays club ball with some other mates,” Fionn mumbled. When Tom stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “I asked on our way back.”

“Got it.” Harry had the ball now, and he was going back towards Aneurin. Tom never used to be into jock types but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Harry’s legs as he ran, the muscle visible with each stride. When Aneurin managed to catch the ball before it went in, he tossed it back to Jack, who placed it in the center of the pitch. Harry put his hands on his knees and bent forward, panting slightly as he waited for Jack to kick off the ball.

Tom felt like he might pass out.

“You’re so obvious,” Fionn said, poking Tom’s arm. “You’re practically drooling. Have you never seen him play?”

“A bit,” Tom said faintly.

“I hope I was never like this with you,” Fionn said, his mouth twitching in amusement.

“Oh, you were much worse,” Tom said dryly. They locked eyes and dissolved into laughter. Tom was glad for it. When he went over to Fionn’s after he and Harry made up, he was worried it was too soon and his friend would hate him for it. But it seemed that whatever understanding Harry and Fionn managed to come to without Tom around helped Fionn forgive Tom as well.

Niall passed the ball to Harry, who moved to dodge Jack—except the toe of his cleat got stuck in the dirt, and he shot forward, his hands flinging out to catch him before he hit the grass. With a groan, he rolled onto his back, bringing his leg up so he could cradle his ankle in his hands.

“Harry!” Niall exclaimed, running over to where Harry fell.

Tom shoved the blanket off of him. “Is he okay?” he asked Niall.

“My ankle.” Harry winced as Niall put an arm around him with Jack on the other side before they helped him onto his feet. He kept the bum ankle bent in the air behind him. “I think I rolled it.”

“I’ll take you to A & E,” Tom said as Niall and Jack slowly walked him off the pitch. When they were close, he put his arm around Harry’s waist, taking Jack’s place.

“No, no,” Harry said. “I don’t need to do all that. It’ll be fine. I just need to ice it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Here, help me on the bench.” Gently, they managed to get Harry on the bench next to Fionn, who moved Harry’s bad leg onto his lap to keep it elevated. Harry smiled at Fionn. “Thanks, man.”

“Tom, you should take Harry’s place,” Fionn said, giving Tom a smug look. Tom was starting to regret teasing Fionn now. “Out of the two of us, it’d be you.”

“That’s a great idea,” Harry said, pulling the blanket onto his lap.

“I didn’t know you played, Tom.” Niall swung his arm over Tom’s shoulders. “We’ll win in honor of Harry.”

“You can take my cleats, love,” Harry suggested, looking at the boots Tom wore, which were unsuitable for any kind of physical activity.

“I can’t,” Tom reminded him, giving him a pointed look. Thinking quickly, he lied, “Harry’s feet are too big.”

“What’s going on?” Richard asked as he joined them. “Will Styles make it out alive?”

“Harry is going to sit out, but Fionn will take his place since he’s already wearing trainers,” Tom said, smiling broadly at Richard. Fionn made a noise of protest, but Tom continued over him. “He hasn’t played in a while though so you might have to help him.”

“I’m a great teacher,” Richard said. To Fionn, he said, “I’m very patient.”

Fionn’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, um—“

“Even better!” Niall said genially. “No offense, Tom.”

“None taken.”

Harry lifted his legs up off of Fionn, his face creasing in concentration as he tried not to tweak his ankle. “Have fun, Fionn.”

Fionn looked from Harry to Tom to Jack, who turned away just as his mouth quirked into an amused smile as he caught onto what was happening. When Fionn realized he was clearly alone in this, he sighed. “Okay. I suppose.”

Jack clapped Fionn on the shoulder. “C’mon, mate. It’ll be fun.”

“Right,” Fionn muttered as Niall, Jack, and Richard started herding him back onto the pitch.

Tom carefully moved Harry’s legs again so he could take Fionn’s seat and patted Harry’s thigh over the blanket. “We’re evil.”

“Diabolical,” Harry agreed. “If it didn’t hurt so bad, I’d say I twisted my ankle on purpose.”

Tom traced his finger along the exposed bone of Harry’s good ankle. “We really should get you some ice at least.”

“You worry too much,” Harry said, catching Tom’s hand. He tugged him closer so he could press a kiss to Tom’s ring. “We should watch Fionn fall in love with my big, handsome friend.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Fine. We’ll settle for infatuation. For now at least.”

Tom turned to Harry then. “Harry?”

Harry turned to Tom. “Yeah?”

“ _I’m_ infatuated with you,” he said. “Very much so.”

His mouth curled into Tom’s favorite smile. He leaned closer again so his lips were at Tom’s ear, “So fair art thou, my bonnie lass. So deep in luve am I.”

And all Tom seemed to smell was roses.

 

* * *

 

That night, Tom lay in bed facing his window. The moonlight made him paler than usual, and he lifted his hand, staring at his fingers. Hours ago these same fingers traced patterns into Harry’s skin. He brought his hand to his mouth—his mouth that kissed every inch of that same skin.

Unlike every nightmare that Tom ever had, when he looked to his left, Harry was still there, sleeping facing Tom with his hand reaching towards him despite Tom’s protests that he must sleep on his back for his ankle. There was still so much they needed to talk about, but in that moment there was only this: this feeling that built up inside of Tom whenever he looked at Harry.

Peace. Harry gave Tom his peace.

Careful not to jostle the bed, Tom turned onto his side so they were face to face. After the football match—Niall, Fionn, and Richard still managed to defeat Jack, Aneurin, and Barry despite Fionn’s lack of experience—the others went to the pub while Harry took Tom to develop the film. He knew that Harry saw the world through a different lens—he saw beauty and color and _art_. But he never stopped being surprised every time he saw the way Harry seemed to see _him_.

“You’re staring again,” Harry mumbled without opening his eyes.

Tom propped his head up on his hand. “I’m aware.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Harry peeked up at Tom. “What’s wrong?”

“What do we do?” Tom asked. “Like what happens if we break up again?”

_How would they survive it?_

Now Harry was completely awake. “And your thoughts took such a morbid turn because…?”

“Because I’m lying here next to you wondering what I did to deserve you,” Tom said. “Because I feel like it’ll all disappear again when the universe realizes I don’t.”

Abruptly, Harry sat up, cupping the side of Tom’s face in one of his hands. “Deserve me? Love, you have it all wrong. We’ve both made mistakes, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not—I’m not used to being this happy,” Tom admitted. “I know I said I wasn’t scared, but I am. I’m fucking terrified.”

“Tom, I— _fuck this ankle_ ,” Harry cursed. He loosed a breath before he tried to scoot his body closer to Tom. “I’m not good at this stuff. I’ve never had a relationship like this before, but I know that this is what I want. This is _all_ that I want. We got it wrong before. We’re stronger together than we are apart. When we’re apart, you date your best friend, and I do stupid shit like make deals with my psychotic ex roommate.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if he hurt you. I remember how freaked out I was when I saw your face after he got his hands on you the first time and that was before.”

Harry kissed Tom’s knuckles. “He’s not going to touch me.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” Tom said.

“No, but I can promise that I won’t go out of my way to get into trouble.”

“Hmm.”

Harry’s hand drifted to Tom’s arse and pulled him closer. He pressed a kiss to Tom’s chest, letting his mouth linger. “Don’t be upset. We’re together. Be happy with me.”

“I _am_ happy,” Tom said, running his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“You don’t _seem_ happy right now,” Harry teased.

Tom rested his cheek on top of Harry’s head, cupping the back of his neck. “Trust me, I am. I was miserable when we weren’t together. Ask any of my mates.”

“You’re strong,” Harry said, his breath warm on Tom’s collarbone. “With or without me.”

His hand moved under Tom’s knee and urged Tom’s leg around Harry’s waist. Now they were pressed against one another, Tom could feel just how _awake_ Harry was now. “What are you up to?”

“Well, you’ve woken me up,” Harry said between kissing Tom’s neck. “And I’m a bit cold.”

“Your ankle,” Tom reminded him, but the reprimand was a little lost with how breathy Tom sounded.

Harry smiled, his eyelids still heavy from sleep. With both hands at Tom’s waist, he pulled Tom on top of him. “That’s the glory of you topping, love.”

 

* * *

 

Sunday – 22 Days After

 

Harry on his feet on stable ground was already a struggle, but Harry on crutches was absolutely ridiculous. More often than not, he stumbled forward, not used to supporting his weight, and one of them would have to catch him. He pouted at Tom from where he stood with Barry and Richard against the wall. Tom smirked at him before he turned back to the bar, glancing at the bloke that was standing near him.

“There we are,” Peyton Evans said as he slid a martini over to the girl between him and Tom. He lifted his beer towards her. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Victoria said, smiling at him over the rim of his glass. She pretended to take a sip before she set it back down on the counter. She leaned towards her companion and placed her hand on his chest. “So. Tell me about yourself, Peyton.”

“Oh, um, there’s not much to say,” he said, his eyes dropping to Vic’s hand. “I’m a bit new to the area still.”

“Me as well!” Victoria said. “I’m starting at the university in January. Will you be attending?”

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve recently moved for, um, work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m helping out a friend.”

“How _interesting_ ,” Victoria said, drawing out the word. “That’s so good of you to move to a new city just for a friend. You two must be _very_ close.”

“I suppose,” Peyton said evasively, his eyes darting away.

“I’d love to meet him,” Vic continued. Discreetly, Tom reached out towards her and pinched the small of her back. _Too far_. “But tonight’s about us, isn’t it?” She lifted her drink. “To meeting new people.”

Peyton touched his glass to hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

The song changed, and Victoria did a little jump, setting her still untouched drink back on the bar. She grabbed Peyton’s hand. “Oh my god, I love this song! Dance with me!”

“Oh, um, okay—“

Tom turned just as Vic pulled Peyton into the crowd, her eyes meeting Tom’s for a split second. She nodded once before turning his attention back on Peyton, moving his hands to her hips as she started to dance. Tom had to look away. When he asked Vic if she’d help them, he didn’t want to consider how far Vic would go to do so. She was the type of friend that would throw her body in front of yours in a line of fire. Tom was well aware of this; he just didn’t want to be the person who loaded the gun.

Jack sidled up to Tom at the bar, his strawberry blonde hair hidden underneath a black cap he stole from Harry. “She’s good.”

“I know,” Tom said, “but sometimes I think she forgets to be careful for her own sake.”

“Then she’ll fit right in,” Jack said wryly. “Why is Styles here?”

“He didn’t want to miss out,” Tom said. “Yet another person who doesn’t know how to be careful for his own sake.”

“He’ll slip on those damn sticks.”

“He does that at home, too. A club won’t make much of a difference.”

“How are Fionn and Ni doing?”

Tom pulled out his phone and handed it to Jack. “The last update was ten minutes ago. Felix is still at home.”

“And we’re sure that this is our guy?” Jack asked, moving so his back was against the counter.

“He told Vic he was here for work,” Tom informed him. “He’s helping a mate with a job that pays well apparently. Give her another half hour and he’ll probably spill all of the details of the job.”

“I still can’t believe Gigi tapped his phone and figured out he hired a new runner already,” Jack said. “Where do you lot find these people?”

"Girls are powerful creatures,” Tom shrugged. Admittedly, Tom was still in awe of Gigi himself. It was Harry’s idea to figure out what Felix’s next move was. If he was trying to expand, it meant his attention was also being expanded. He was bound to slip up somewhere. Their plan was to be there when he did.

“I feel like a spy,” Jack said, leaning his elbows on the bar top.

“Vic’s the spy,” Tom reminded him. “We’re the muscle.”

Jack’s eyes followed Vic, who was dancing around a very pleased looking Peyton. His jaw tightened. “That guy’s a prick.”

“You don’t know him,” Tom said. “Remember Barry and Harry were both involved with Felix. This guy could be innocent in all of this.”

His eyes narrowed when Victoria had to slyly dance away from Peyton’s wandering hands. “Doubt it.”

Tom, too, was becoming more and more anxious to pull Victoria out, but he had to remind himself that she didn’t need saving. If she wanted their help, she’d signal for it like they planned.

“You’re starting to stress me out,” Tom said to Jack. “Stop staring like that.”

“It’s not my fault he’s getting bloody handsy—“

“She’s a big girl, Jack. Just watch to see if she touches her nose like we discussed. I’m going to talk to the others. Let them know what’s going on.”

“Fine,” Jack said.

Tom patted Jack’s arm before he broke away and went over to his boyfriend. Harry’s eyes were already on Tom, mostly because Jack and Tom were the only ones in his line of vision since Victoria took Peyton onto the dance floor. Richard and Barry also turned their attention to Tom, like good soldiers waiting for their commanding officer’s order.

Barry bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet. “Is everything alright?”

“So far,” Tom said. “She took him dancing. He was getting a little cagey, I think.”

“Do you think she’ll get all of the information tonight?” Richard asked. Most interestingly, he was already with Fionn when Tom called and asked Fionn if he wanted to help. Tom tried not to sound too pleased over the phone when Fionn told him they had just gotten out of a movie and would meet them at the house.

Tom shook his head. “He might get suspicious.”

“But will she want to see him again?” Harry asked, biting his lower lip. “I feel like we’re asking a lot of her.”

“I’m not going to speak for Vic. Maybe we should regroup later.”

“G’s calling,” Barry said, looking at his phone. “Hold on—hi, babe—“

“Maybe I should call Fionn,” Richard said, watching as Barry walked away to a quieter area. “Check in.”

“Good idea, bro,” Harry said with a small smile.

Tom gave Harry a knowing look. _Smooth_ , he mouthed.

Harry shrugged. _It worked_.

“I’ll be back,” Richard said distractedly, not paying either of them any attention, as he pulled up Fionn’s number and drifted away like Barry had.

“And then there were two,” Harry said as Tom moved closer to lend him some support. He wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist, kissing his jawline. Harry smiled his squinty-eyed smile down at Tom. “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” Tom said. “Things just feel right.”

“They do, don’t they?” Harry asked. “Everyone’s getting along.”

“Maybe a little too well,” Tom said dryly, nodding to Jack, who was still making sure Victoria was okay. He should’ve seen it coming. Jack was his only straight, single friend; Victoria was Victoria. Jack didn’t stand a chance.

Harry squeezed Tom’s hip. “Jealous?”

“Obviously,” Tom deadpanned. “No, I just don’t want it to end poorly. Victoria’s my oldest friend, and Jack’s one of my best friends. They’re both permanent fixtures in my life.”

“But imagine their kids,” Harry teased. “They’ll be absolutely _gorgeous_.”

“Oh, please.”

“You’re right— _our_ babies will be the best.”

“That’s definitely not what I meant.”

“My eyes and your hair on a little girl,” Harry continued like Tom didn’t say anything. “Imagine the talent. They’d be marvelous.”

“They’d be biological miracles,” Tom said.

“Eh, my sister can be our surrogate. She’s got my DNA.”

“Funnily enough, I’d prefer not to have a child with your sister, Harry.”

Harry chuckled, kissing Tom’s temple. “We’ll table this discussion.”

“Trust you to bring up our hypothetical babies in a club,” Tom said.

He opened his mouth to respond, but then Victoria was there, Jack close behind. “Tom,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Peyton’s gone. He got a call and made a half arsed excuse to leave. Said it was _business_.”

Tom and Harry shared a look.

“We’re following him,” Tom said before he could talk himself out of it. “Let’s collect the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter, which was probably why it took me longer than I intended. 
> 
> Some good news: all the characters I wanted to introduce has been introduced! No more OC's (hopefully) to remember. 
> 
> But that also means that we really are coming to the end. The Mystery Gang is going to take down Felix, Fionn has potentially found himself a healthy relationship, and the boys are hit with the obvious reality that girls are better than them.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found a dream that I could speak to  
> A dream that I can call my own  
> I found a thrill to press my cheek to
> 
> At Last x Etta James

Sunday – 22 Days After

 

“Are you two quite finished?” Tom asked, turning to look at Jack and Victoria in the back, who had just spent the last 20 minutes bickering about bloody grapes of all things. That’s all they seem to know how to do—besides stare moodily at one another.

Victoria leaned forward so her chin rested on Tom’s chair. “Sorry, boss.”

“What’s he even doing?” Harry asked, frowning as he looked out of the window. “Felix would never do business like this.”

Tom said nothing. They’ve been parked across the street from a business park for the past fifteen minutes staring at a blacked out shop window. Through Harry and Barry’s pieced together knowledge, they knew that Felix was clever enough to keep all of his business hidden behind other ventures. This section of shops were clearly not functioning businesses, and the only people who come around here are the people who spray painted Nigel Farage’s face on an infant’s body on the side of the building.

He glanced in his vanity mirror at Jack, who was already watching Tom. “What if he’s stopped caring?”

"He’ll get caught surely,” Victoria said. Jack cut his eyes to her, but she ignored him. “We won’t need to do anything if someone notices cars parked over here and call the police.”

“Which begs the question,” Harry said under his breath, “does he _want_ to get caught?”

 

* * *

 

Back at Jack’s house, they gathered in the sitting room, a program on in the background that no one was paying attention to. Richard took Barry over to Gigi’s before he went to meet Fionn and Aneurin, which left the four of them.

Tom’s phone started ringing from where he left it on the coffee table. All four of them looked at one another. He leaned over and grabbed it. Gigi’s grinning face was staring up at him, her arm thrown over Tom’s shoulders, and he let out a breath.

“Gigi, hi,” he greeted as he answered the call. “I’m putting you on speaker, love.”

“Hi, everyone,” Gigi said, her voice a little distorted through the phone’s speaker. Tom set her back down on the coffee table and scooted back into Harry’s waiting arm. “Barry said you wanted to tell me something, Harry.”

“Right, yeah. He has an account in his mum’s name,” Harry said. “Harriet Coleman. She didn’t take his father’s name.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that,” Gigi said. According to Barry, she has a dual screen PC setup and has been looking through Felix’s accounts all night. “There aren’t enough funds to be suspicious. People could very well believe he just sends his mum money.”

“He could be withdrawing the funds,” Victoria suggested. “Putting them somewhere else to make it look like his mum’s paying her bills.”

“The money isn’t the issue,” Tom said. “He’s obviously got his money spread all over the place to avoid taxes. We need to figure out where he’s keeping the drugs. He’s smart enough to keep it from his dealers, but he won’t be overseeing everything now. Maybe that’s what Peyton’s real job is. Maybe he’s not running drugs and we’ve got it all wrong.”

“I’ve never heard of him before now,” Harry said. “Barry said he hadn’t either.”

“But Barry wasn’t in with Felix like that,” Gigi pointed out.

“He wouldn’t trust Barry with that kind of information,” Jack added. “Barry started off as a client. Not his best mate.”

Harry’s jaw twitched at the reminder, but he let it go. “So what are we suggesting? That he’s hired Peyton to help him run the business? That doesn’t sound like Felix to me. He’s about family, but he also keeps the majority of the money for himself. He’d have to pay handsomely for Peyton to not only relocate his life but to help run something as big as this.”

“He’s playing a bigger game,” Jack said. “I don’t think we’re thinking big enough.”

“I think Barry’s here,” Gigi said suddenly. “I’ve got to let him in. I’ll call you if I find anything new.”

“Thank you, G. Tell Barry we said hi,” Tom said before he hit end. Tom stared down at his phone as a text from his mum came in, asking how his night was. He shut his eyes. “We’re so screwed, aren’t we?”

“A bit,” Vic said, “but at least we’ve learned the meaning of friendship.”

Harry snorted before he turned to Tom and put his hand on his knee. “I’m tired. I’m going to go up to bed.”

“Okay,” Tom said as Harry kissed his cheek. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Night,” Harry said as he passed Vic and Jack, stopping to bump his fist against Jack’s before he hobbled off.

Jack glanced at Victoria before he got to his feet. “Me, too. I’ll see you lot in the morning.”

Victoria watched Jack walk to the staircase, biting on her thumbnail. When they heard a door close upstairs, Tom said, “So. Jack, huh?”

She whipped around so fast that her hair twisted around her neck. “What?”

“Oh, don’t.”

“He’s a twat.”

“You think he’s fit.”

Victoria brushed her hair off of her shoulder. “I mean I have _eyes_.”

“Right,” Tom smirked, “and so does he.”

“Oh, I—I don’t think—whatever,” she said, her cheeks flushing. It was Classic Vic. Only Victoria would be completely oblivious to Jack’s interest in her despite the fact that she was an absolute babe in her own right. “I like Harry. He’s obviously obsessed with you. As he should be.”

“He’s okay,” Tom shrugged, though he was grinning.

"And I especially like how happy he makes you."

"Me, too."

“Doesn’t hurt that he’s dreamy,” Vic added with a sly smile.

“No,” Tom said, “doesn’t hurt.”

 

* * *

 

“What’sgoingon?” Harry slurred when Tom climbed over him to get into bed.

Tom paused over Harry to kiss his nose. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm,” Harry hummed, wrapping his around Tom’s waist and turning with him as Tom fell onto the inside part of the bed. He nestled into Tom’s chest, his curls tickling Tom’s chin. “Much better.”

“You make me sweat,” Tom whispered accusingly. “Wrapped around me like a monkey.”

“’M your monkey,” Harry mumbled.

Tom smoothed Harry’s hair down. “I don’t think that’s what you want to be called, H.”

Harry smacked his lips sleepily. “Call me whatever you want.”

“Okay, remember this in the morning when I start calling you Monkey.”

“That’s fine. Tom?”

Tom smiled, pressing his cheek to Harry’s head. It was their favorite position, even though Harry was taller than Tom. No one liked to be cuddled more than Harry. “Yes?”

He felt Harry’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “I think I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very short--the shortest I've posted I think--but I wanted to post something on New Year's Eve. I think the next chapter will probably be a bit of a time jump AND it'll probably start off in Harry's POV. Very exciting things are coming!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time that you touched me  
> Oh, will wonders ever cease?  
> Blessed be the mystery of love
> 
> Mystery of Love x Sufjan Stevens

Friday – 27 Days After

 

Tom straightened his blazer. With his best smile, the smile that made all of his mum’s friends pat his knee and tell him what a _good boy_ he was, he held out his hand to the man seated across from him. “Thank you so much for this opportunity. I promise I won’t let you down.”

           

* * *

 

The library was filled with students revising for their finals, but Aneurin was already holding a table for them on the top floor, his books and bag saving their seats. He was always the one who did it for them because he was the only one who could ignore the dirty looks people gave him for saving a ten-seat table. His reasoning was that he actually “spent his time revising and not worrying about the wanks that passed by unlike the rest of them.”

For so long, it had just been the five of them. Yes, there were relationships, and they had other friends, especially Tom, but at the end of the day there was only the five of them.

Now, the table was much fuller than Tom was used to. Richard sat between Jack and Fionn with his attention on Fionn, as he quizzed him with the flashcards Fionn made. Finishing her application was Victoria across from Jack and next to Gigi, who seemed to be helping Vic. And then Barry was on her other side with Aneurin next to him, both engrossed in their own revising.

The only one missing was Harry.

Tom sat down next to Aneurin. “It amazes me how full this library gets during the revision period.”

Aneurin snorted. “I’ll say. I’ve been here since noon, and it’s been crowded as long. Fucking posers.”

“What are you revising?” Tom asked as he started to unpack his things.

“Maths at the moment. It’s pointless. I’m sure I’m going to fail.”

“As much as you study? I highly doubt that.”

“We’ll see. How did it go with the—“ He gestured vaguely with his hands, widening his eyes pointedly.

“It went as planned.”

“Good. Where’s Harry?”

“Working.” He opened his notebook to the last page he took notes on.

“I saved him a seat,” Aneurin said, looking a little put out with Tom.

Using his teeth, Tom uncapped his pen and pulled his text closer to him. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

 

* * *

 

After a few hours in the library, Tom and Jack said goodbye to the group. The weather forecast called for snow that weekend, which meant that they were almost definitely going to be stuck inside the house. Mary had already left to go home for the rest of the week and their nameless fourth roommate that Tom still hadn’t met yet was also going to be MIA, since he spent most of his time at his boyfriend’s house. His dance class was canceled so students who moved onto the next round of the internship could practice for the auditions on Monday, and Tom was free for the rest of the day now.

“A sleepover is a terrible idea,” Tom said for what felt like the hundredth time since they walked into Tesco. He took the basket from Jack. “For one thing, how are we meant to house ten people?”

“Aneurin, Richard, and Fionn are going to stay in the living room,” Jack said. “Mary already gave Gigi and Barry permission to sleep in her room. You already sleep with Harry every bloody day, and—“

Tom stopped in front of the boxes of dry pasta. “And Victoria?”

“She can sleep wherever,” Jack said as he became riveted with the nutrition facts on a box of angel hair.

“Vic can sleep with me,” Tom said, continuing down the aisle.

Jack caught up with him easily, his legs longer than Tom’s. “What about Harry?”

“He can share with you,” Tom said.

Jack wrinkled his nose. “I think I speak for both of us when I say no.”

“Well you’re not going to be sleeping with my best mate.”

“What if I said that to Harry?” Jack shot back.

“Do you not remember warning me off of Harry?”

Jack pursed his lips. “I’m not just trying to shag Vic.”

“So you didn’t propose this whole sleepover with the sole intention of pulling?” Tom asked, arching a brow as he put a loaf of bread into the basket. Then he thought about the amount of tea and toast Barry consumes and added another loaf.

“ _No_ ,” Jack said as he slipped a block of cheese into the basket. “I _thought_ it’d be fun.”

“Nothing is ever fun,” Tom said. “Not with our friends at least. Someone will cry, someone will start a war with a local drug dealer, and someone else will have a drastic hair change. And then there will be a bunch of badly hidden sex in between.”

“Well not from me—I’m serious!” Jack insisted when Tom snorted. “I just—she doesn’t even see me like that.”

Tom kept his mouth shut. He knew very well that Victoria did see Jack like that, but he wasn’t going to out her like that. He also knew that Jack was fishing, and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Is anyone allergic to anything?” Jack asked when they moved onto the snack aisle. He eyed a package of peanut butter biscuits.

“I don’t think so,” Tom said as he grabbed the biscuits. “I was thinking we could do a stew. It’ll last for a few meals.”

“Good idea,” Jack said. He stood next to Tom as Tom read the ingredients on a can of vegetable stock, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Have you seen Harry’s mural yet? I heard he bought the paint the other day.”

“I have not,” Tom said, setting the stock back on the shelf. Too much sodium. His desire to drive twenty minutes to the closest Waitrose was growing stronger by the minute. “Should we do a veggie option? I think Gigi is vegan.”

“I’m pretty sure Barry said she’s a pescetarian,” Jack said. “I can make a tuna pie. Why haven’t you seen it? Isn’t it your face?”

“I already know what my face looks like,” Tom said. “Do we have drinks at the house that isn’t beer and cheap vodka? For Fionn?”

“We have water. Why do you keep changing the subject?”

“I’m not. Should we get juices for breakfast?”

Jack grabbed his arm and stopped him from going to the next aisle. “You are. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Tom said. “We have to get the house ready.”

“Tom, it’s just our mates. They won’t mind if they have to get their own sheets.”

“ _I_ mind—“

“Why don’t you want to talk about Harry?” Jack asked, ignoring Tom. “Is something going on?”

Tom shook his head. His gaze fell on an older couple by the cheeses, and he quickly looked away. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about Harry. I just don’t want to talk about Harry _right now_. Everything is fine. We’re fine. Okay?”

Jack stared at him, scrutinizing him, for what felt like an eternity before he finally said, “Okay. I’ll go get the fish.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tom was putting a white sheet on the couch when the front door opened, and Barry, Gigi, and Fionn walked in. Their faces were red from the cold, and they hurried into the foyer so Fionn could shut the door, blocking out the cold. Tom smiled widely at his mates. “Hi. The others are in the kitchen.”

“Something smells good,” Gigi said as she handed Barry her purple coat.

He hung it up on the makeshift coat rack that Mary put together one weekend. “Where can I put the bags, mate?”

“You’ll be in Mary’s room,” Tom told them. He nodded to Aneurin’s bag that was already sat on top of a pile of blankets on the floor. “Fionn, you’re in here with Richard and Ni.”

“Brilliant,” Fionn said as he set his bag down on an armchair. While Barry went upstairs to Mary’s, Gigi threw her arm around Fionn’s shoulders, his face turning slightly pink, and led him into the kitchen area. Tom could hear laughter and then cheers of greeting when they walked in.

“Are you quite finished?” Tom looked up as Harry leaned against the doorframe, a wry smile on his face. His ankle was now in a brace, but he was off the crutches now that the swelling had gone down.

Tom fluffed the pillow that was meant for Richard for the second time. “Almost.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m not—“

“Tom, I don’t care that you didn’t say it back.”

Tom picked at a small hole in the pillowcase. “I _wasn’t_ stalling.”

Harry pushed off from the door and crossed the room, putting his hands on Tom’s upper arms. “Love, I would _never_ hold that against you. I said it because I _wanted_ to say it. Not because I expect anything in return.”

“I just—I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Tom said, shaking his head. “I _know_ how I feel, but I can’t—“

“We just got back together,” Harry said. “And we were barely dating before that. If you think it’s too soon, then it’s too soon. I told you before that this is your show. I just want to be with you.”

“I _am_ falling for you,” Tom said quietly, placing his head on Harry’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat underneath his ear, strong and steady. “I know this is what I want.”

“Then stop avoiding me.” Tom could hear the smile in his voice.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Tom said, but they both knew he was lying.

He kissed the top of Tom’s head. “I missed you all day.”

Whenever he wasn’t with Harry, he missed him desperately. He knew that they were both obsessive when it came to the other person, but Tom also knew that he couldn’t make Harry his entire life. There was a balance that Tom was still trying to find. “I missed you, too.”

Harry pulled back and smiled down at Tom. “Did you?”

“You know I did,” Tom said. “I always do.”

“It’s nice to be reminded,” Harry said. He laced their fingers together and brought their joint hands to his mouth, kissing the back of Tom’s hand. “I know we should join the others, but since you’re desperate to cock block Jack, I want to get as much time in as I can with you.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side about this.”

“I am on your side, love. I want to be on your side _so much_ —“

“Enough,” Tom laughed, shoving against Harry’s chest. The hand that wasn’t holding Tom’s moved to grip Tom’s side, and he pulled him in just as he lowered his lips to Tom’s, capturing his laughter. Tom’s mouth slanted against Harry’s, deepening the kiss, and then Harry was walking him backwards until they were falling on the couch.

At the last minute, Harry twisted Tom so Tom ended up straddling Harry’s lap. Tom tried to tell him to be careful, his ankle still a concern for only Tom apparently, but Harry wasn’t listening. His hands slid down Tom’s back and cupped his arse, pushing him firmly down onto Harry’s growing erection. Tom’s tongue slipped into Harry’s mouth just as his hands slipped under Harry’s jumper. He rolled his hips, and Harry’s head fell back, a groan falling from his lips.

As if he’d been shocked, Tom reared back and slapped a hand over Harry’s mouth. Both of their eyes widened.

“Oh my God,” Tom whispered, his shoulders shaking from repressed laughter. “ _Oh my God_.”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. “Do you think they heard?”

Tom glanced at the hallway, which was still empty. They both waited a second, to see if anyone came to investigate, before he said, “No, I don’t think—“

“We definitely heard!” Jack shouted.

 

* * *

 

By the time the snow started to fall, most of their friends had gone to bed, and Victoria, Fionn and Tom were the last ones left. Victoria and Tom were huddled on the back steps while Fionn took a drag from his cigarette. White flakes started to collect in their hair, coming down faster than they were melting.

After dinner, the group piled into the living room and watched bad Netflix movies while attempting to play board games. The topics Felix, exams, and their impending graduation were banned for the entire weekend, and anyone who breached these terms had to take two shots (because one wasn’t a punishment). Fionn was of course exempt from this game, but he would’ve been the last person to bring up any of these topics—especially when Richard was practically sitting in his lap. Barry, on the other hand, was four shots down, Jack two, and Aneurin led the pack with six since he couldn’t seem to stop asking how much revision time they’ve all put in individually so far.

It had been a glorious night. Tom was glad Jack didn’t let Tom talk him out of it.

Victoria flicked off a mini pile of snow that was collecting on her leg. “So I was wondering something, GC.”

He turned to her. “What have you been wondering?”

“As you know, I have to go back home to pack my meager belongings and move into my flat here. Since I had to sign a lease now instead of after the holidays like I wanted, I’ll have to go back before you do for Christmas. I wanted you to go with me.”

“Of course,” Tom said, “but we’ll have to get a bigger car.”

“Well, not just to help me move,” she said. “Um, actually—I talked to your mum today.”

He arched a brow. “And…?”

Fionn blew out a cloud of smoke. “This should be good.”

“I’m just going to say it,” Victoria said. “Miles is coming back to the house for a little bit. Your mum would really like you to talk to him.”

Tom’s expression clouded. “What happened to letting me decide when I was ready?”

“I’m just relaying the message,” Victoria said as Fionn passed her his cigarette.

Tom looked to Fionn then, an idea forming in his head. “Would you come with me?”

Fionn’s eyes widened. “What? To your house?”

“You, Jack, Barry, and Ni have never seen where I grew up.”

“Have we not learned from Harry? Your dad would eviscerate us.”

“Well, maybe I’m being a little selfish,” Tom conceded. “If my dad truly wants to be in my life, he’ll treat my best friends right.”

“Cheers,” Fionn said dryly.

“So will you do it?”

Fionn looked at Tom like he was an idiot. “Of course I’ll do it.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a moving team,” Tom said, patting Vic’s knee.

 

* * *

 

Harry

 

Tom was still outside with Victoria and Fionn when Harry peeked out the little window above the sink in the kitchen. His boyfriend put his head on Vic’s shoulders and the two of them laughed at something Fionn said.

Harry felt his mouth curl into a smile. He never had a close group of friends like Tom had. He had Niall, sure, and his sister, but he mostly kept to himself at university. The students here always sniffed the charity shop where he bought his clothes and turned their noses up at him, at his hair, and his tattoos. Then the other students in his program, whom he _thought_ he’d get along with, were far too competitive to even have a conversation with so he stopped trying eventually. He’d never tell Tom, but he used to envy him for these friendships; now he was just happy they all seemed to finally accept him.

He turned on the tap and filled two glasses with water before he made his way back to Jack’s bedroom. Part of him—actually it was most of him—wanted to just go into his old bedroom and wait for Tom but he knew Tom would be mad at him if he did.

When he lived here, he had only seen Jack’s twice but he never went inside. There was something strangely intimate about entering someone’s bedroom, and Harry never had any desire to see intimately into Jack’s life. And now he was going to be sleeping with him.

The irony was not lost on him.

“Knock, knock,” he said as he opened the door. He held up one of the glasses, which were dripping droplets of water along the sides. “Got you a water.”

“Thanks,” Jack said from where he was sitting at his desk, eyeing the water that dripped onto his carpet. He was wearing his reading glasses now that they had all gotten ready for bed. Harry always thought the wireframes were charming on Jack, and he never missed an opportunity to tell him when they lived together, if only because he knew it made Jack blush since he was usually so self-conscious about them.

As expected, Jack took off his glasses, as if he just remembered they were on, and tucked them into a desk drawer.

“They’re still outside,” Harry told him as he sat on the edge of Jack’s bed. He put his feet up on the bedframe, careful of his bum ankle, and leaned his forearms on his thighs. “Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep downstairs? Or I can always break into Andrew’s room.”

“He’d murder you,” Jack said. “Like legitimately murder you. Do you know that Tom doesn’t even know Andrew’s name?”

“He refers to him as The Other Roommate,” Harry said fondly. Jack rolled his eyes, even though Harry knew damn well that Jack loved Harry and Tom together now.

“I’m going to be nosy for a second,” he said, pushing off from the desk so his chair faced Harry.

Harry took a sip from his water before he set it down on the crate Jack used as a nightstand. “Only if I get to be nosy back.”

“Deal,” Jack said. “Are you and Tom okay?”

“We’re grand,” Harry said with a wide grin. “Do you really like Victoria?”

“Yes. Why hasn’t Tom seen your mural yet?”

“He was avoiding me. Does she know?”

“Why? And I think she does.”

“Because I told him I loved him,” Harry said simply. Tom could say anything he wanted, but Harry knew that he was upset with himself for not saying it back. He wished he could make him understand just how much Harry didn’t mind that he didn’t say it back; Harry loved easily. That’s how he was raised. In Tom’s home, love was seen as weakness and that would be hard for anyone to unlearn.

Jack’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. One of the simpler pleasures in life was shocking Jack. “Holy shit. What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Really, they had sex. He could sense Tom was struggling to find a response and Harry decided to save him the trouble. He wanted to say it in that moment because it was how he felt—not because he wanted to hear it back. It didn’t make him love Tom any less; it didn’t make him want to take it back.

“He didn’t say it back then.”

Harry shrugged. “Like I said—doesn’t matter. Do you only like Victoria because she’s fit?”

When Tom told Harry that Victoria was his first and last girlfriend, Harry didn’t expect the pinch of jealousy. He was _never_ a jealous person. He was also very secure in his relationship despite the issues they’ve had to work through. But there was also that small voice in the back of his head that kept reminding him that he wasn’t good enough for Tom. That he didn’t know him or didn’t belong in his world—not like Victoria did.

Jack’s eyes narrowed, like he was offended Harry would even suggest that. “No.”

“Then why?”

“Because—because I don’t know. When I look at her…something feels right. I guess.”

Harry had to stop himself from smiling. This was the most honest Jack has ever been with him, and he knew it was because Harry was honest with him first. Give and take—that was what their relationship was. “Okay. Then I’ll help you out. I’ll convince Tom.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, which was starting to part a little down the middle. The curtains look was decidedly not for Jack. “Thanks. I think.”

“I like these heart-to-hearts we have, Jackie. Makes me feel closer to you,” Harry smirked as slid off the bed and lowered himself onto the floor. There was a little blanket bed that Tom made for him on Jack’s floor. He even left Harry the quilt they usually used in their room, which still smelled like Tom.

Jack rolled his eyes as he climbed onto his bed. Harry resisted the urge to tell him that if he kept it up, his eyes would get stuck that way. “Shut up.”

Harry rolled onto his back, turning his head to look up at Jack, who was leaning over so he could see Harry. “Do you guys do this often? Have sleepovers?”

“We used to do it more,” Jack told him. “But it’s rare we can all get together like this now. You know how busy Tom gets. All his commitments and shit. He used to be a lot busier last year when his dad was more involved in his life. He would come to campus every other weekend to drag Tom to these dinners with faculty members or plan world domination or whatever. He was exhausted all the time from just keeping up appearances.”

“I didn’t know that.” Harry didn’t hate a lot of people in this world, but Lord Glynn-Carney was a special exception. If it wasn’t because of the horrible accusations he hurled at Harry, it was because of the way he treated his only living son.

Jack nodded, his expression somber. “That was a hard time to be Tom’s mate. It was like he was just going through the motions. He kind of forgot how to live.”

 

* * *

 

When Jack fell asleep, Harry slipped out of his room and went down the hall to Tom’s room. As he expected, the door was left cracked open. He urged it a little bit more open so he could stick his head in. On the bed, Victoria’s curls were splayed over the pillows, her face turned slightly away from the light that was emitting from the hall. His eyes trailed from her to the end of the bed, where Tom leaned against the wall by the window, a book in his lap.

He arched a brow when Harry met his eyes. _What’s wrong?_

“Couldn’t sleep,” he whispered back. He nodded towards the hall. “Come with?”

He nodded. He set the book down and slipped off the bed, careful not to jostle Victoria. Harry leaned against the doorframe as he watched Tom slip on his sliders and grab his coat from where he dropped it on the floor. He put it on over his pajamas—one of Harry’s shirts and a pair of plaid bottoms that reminded Harry of Christmas—and pushed Harry backwards into the hallway so he could close the door.

Tom took Harry’s hand. He was still wearing his readers, looking like Draco Malfoy with Harry Potter’s glasses on. Harry was a little ashamed to say that he was turned on by it.

As if he could hear the direction Harry’s thoughts took, Tom said, “Are you really thinking about sex right now?”

“It’s my burden,” Harry said solemnly. And by that he meant, the permanent semi he was constantly sporting because of his beautiful boyfriend was his burden.

“Where are we going?” Tom asked as Harry opened the front door for him.

Harry held up the keys he nicked when Tom wasn’t looking. “I thought we’d go on a drive.”

Tom eyed the horse on the key fob. “How long have you been waiting to do this?”

“Since you texted me Felix was here and I spotted that magnificence outside.”

“You’re lucky I find it sexy when you drive.”

Harry grinned cheekily at him over the top of the car. “Get in, love.”

Tom rolled his eyes but got in, and Harry followed suit, patting the top of the car once before he got in the driver’s side. He stuck the key in and adjusted the steering column to compensate for his legs before hitting the engine start button. The engine came to life under his touch, making Harry’s grin widen.

“You’re such a boy,” Tom said, running his fingers through Harry’s hair and giving him a tender squeeze. And because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “The roads will ice soon.”

“I’ll be gentle. Take the turns very carefully. I’m very good with my hands, you see--"

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Tom sighed, shaking his head.

Harry laughed, feeling lighter than he has in a long time. That was the effect Tom had on him. He could get high off of this feeling. Tom rolled down his window, letting the freezing air in, and Harry’s pulse raced from all of the sensations. He pressed his foot down harder on the gas and the car accelerated to keep up.

As cliché as it was, there was a little cliff that looked over the town that Harry learned about when he was working for Felix. People came here usually for drug related purposes but it was too cold for that now. He could hear Tom laugh softly under his breath when he realized where Harry was taking him.

“I’d be offended for the presumption,” Tom said, “but we never finished what we started on the couch.”

Harry cringed at the reminder. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that Jack now knows what I sound like when I’m having sex.”

When Harry parked the car, Tom unbuckled his belt and turned in his seat so he faced him. “Did you really drive up here for sex?”

“No,” Harry said, turning to face Tom, too. “But if it ends up there…”

“Tight space,” Tom said, gesturing to the cramped interior.

“We’d make it work,” Harry grinned. “Have you been practicing?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean for your audition.”

“Ah,” Tom said. “Well. No.”

Harry straightened up. “ _What?_ Why not?”

“I’ve been with my mates all week. It’s hard to get away.”

“Do they still not know?”

Tom scratched his hand, looking a little uncomfortable. “Not yet.”

“Tom—“

“I’m not purposefully hiding it or anything.”

Harry wanted to lean over and hold his hand—so he leaned over and took Tom’s hand. “I say this with the upmost affection and adoration, but it _is_ sort of your thing to purposefully hide things.”

He traced the lines of Harry’s cross tattoo. “It’s _my_ burden.”

“I love when you quote me,” Harry said, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “You should tell your friends, love.”

Tom smiled down at their joined hands. “I should.”

“Before your audition. They’d want to support you. They’d want to know.”

“I know. I will. I promise.”

“Well. You’re being so flexible tonight,” Harry noted. “While we’re on a roll here, you should be nicer to Jack about Victoria. I think he really likes her.”

“Really?” Tom asked.

He nodded. “We talked earlier. He said some things.”

“Shit,” Tom sighed. “I think she likes him, too. At the very least she’s interested in him. It's just…Vic has had a terrible track record. Her last girlfriend was a complete nightmare apparently, and her boyfriend before that wasn’t much better. I know Jack—I _love_ Jack—but I’ve never _known_ his girlfriends. What if shit goes wrong? Where does that leave us?”

“It’s not about you though,” Harry said as gently as he could. “What if Jack got in the way of us? I know you want to protect both of them, protect your friendships with both of them, but sometimes we just need to let life be. You know what I think?”

"You and Vic,” Tom said under his breath. Harry suspected he wasn’t meant to hear. Louder, he asked, “What do you think, H?”

“I think that this is the happiest I’ve _ever_ been,” Harry told him, “and if someone took this opportunity away from me before I could experience it, I don’t know where I’d be right now. This is… _everything_ to me. You know that. What if that could be everything for Jack and Victoria?”

“Therapist Harry strikes again,” Tom said, smiling ruefully. He lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s. “You know, I never thought I was a terrible person until I met you.”

Harry shifted his seat back before he tugged at Tom’s hand. “Come here.”

“Here we go again,” Tom said as he settled on Harry’s lap, his hands resting on Harry’s shoulders.

He cupped Tom’s face in his hands, and he leaned in to kiss him once before pulling back to look up at him. “Don’t say you’re a terrible person. Please. You just care _so_ much. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“You really love me, don’t you?” It was the awe in his voice that confused Harry the most—almost as if Tom didn’t believe him. He knew that Tom’s been through a lot—between his family and his past relationships—but Harry had never made it more painfully clear that he was this mad about someone than he did with Tom.

"What do I have to do?” Harry asked. “I feel like I’ve made a complete fool out of myself for you. Seriously. It’s been a low decline ever since I sat down next to you on the bus. Ask any of my exes. I don’t act like this.”

“But Earnest Harry is my favorite,” Tom said teasingly.

Harry’s thumb traced the curve of Tom’s smile. “That’s why he’s just for you.”

Tom bit down lightly on the pad of his thumb. “Is that so?”

“Heeey,” Harry whined, pulling his hand back. “Not nice.”

“You’re the nice one, not me,” Tom said. He looked over his shoulder, out of the front window, and his forehead creased. “It’s starting to snow harder. We should—“

Gently, Harry turned Tom’s face back towards him and cut him off with a kiss. Immediately, Tom responded to him, clinging to his shirt. That was another one of Tom’s favorite things—how Tom always responded to him. Not just physically but it was the physical that mattered to Harry in that moment. He didn’t think Tom realized how much it meant to Harry that he trusted him this much.

There wasn’t a lot they could really do in Tom’s cramped car, especially considering how much mobility Harry had with his ankle still healing, and they drove back to the house shortly after. The snow was coming down harder now, and Harry made good on his promise to be gentle when driving back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but I hit a little bit of a mental block. I still know where I want the story to go, but I more or less have to tug it out of me now instead of having the words flow like before.
> 
> We'll resume the rest of the gang's sleepover in the next chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I've felt like this before,   
> but now I'm feeling it even more  
> Because it came from you
> 
> Dreams x The Cranberries

Saturday – 28 Days Later

 

“Never have I ever kissed Tom,” Jack said with a smirk.

Tom shook his head as Harry, Victoria, and Fionn groaned before lifting their cups.

“No way,” Harry said, laughing as Aneurin took a sip from his red plastic cup.

Aneurin shrugged. “It was once when we were freshmen. Definitely top five.”

“Cheers,” Tom said dryly before he downed the contents of his own cup. The whiskey was warm as it trickled down his throat, the ice having melted a long time ago. “I’m going to get a refill. Anyone else?”

“I’ll go with you,” Harry said, getting off of the couch he shared with Barry and Richard. His drink of choice for the night was the diabolical margaritas that Victoria and Fionn mixed, and Tom could smell the tequila on him. Allegedly, because he wasn’t partaking in the actual drinking, Fionn got a little heavy handed with the bottle.

Harry took Tom’s cup from him, and Tom rubbed Harry’s lower back as they walked into the kitchen. Tonight, they were all going to sleep in the living room, and Tom was more than ready to fall asleep next to his boyfriend. As much as he loved Victoria, waking up wrapped around her was a little disorientating, and she wasn’t quite as warm as Harry was.

He hopped up on the counter as Harry set their cups down and went to find where Jack left the whiskey. His hamstrings were still tight from earlier. While the others went out to the back garden to start on making an igloo, Tom, Victoria, and Harry went down to the basement and started working on Tom’s choreography. Harry was mostly there for emotional support, but Tom knew he was really there to get a look into this other world of Tom’s.

“Aha,” Harry said as he opened the freezer door. He pulled out the whiskey with a proud grin that made Tom’s own mouth curve into a smile. “Ice?”

“No thanks.”

“Same as before then?”

“Add a little Coke as well,” Tom said, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t want to black out.”

“Have one of these,” Harry said, nodding to his own cup next to Tom’s thigh. “And then tell me about being pissed.”

Tom wrinkled his nose as he peered over the rim of Harry’s drink. The fumes along were enough to knock him on his arse. “Pass.”

Harry grabbed a Coke from the fridge and went to stand next to Tom. He unscrewed the bottle of whiskey and measured out two shots in the cap. “I’m proper knackered,” he said as he poured the Coke over the whiskey. “How aren’t you?”

“I dunno,” Tom said as Harry went to get something to stir Tom’s drink. “I feel good about this. I think Victoria and I can come up with something great.”

“I’m definitely not an expert,” Harry said, offering Tom his cup, “and I’m _definitely_ biased. _But_ I thought it looked good. I didn’t know Victoria danced.”

“She doesn’t really, but she, um, used to go watch Collin’s recitals with me before she moved. She picked up some stuff.” When they were younger, they used to put on little recitals of their own in Tom’s room. She always was good, but she was never interested in dance outside of her relationship with the Glynn-Carney brothers.

Harry moved to stand between Tom’s legs, and Tom wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, keeping him there. Harry’s brows rose. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Just a bit,” Tom said as he gripped the collar of Harry’s flannel.

He smiled, his hands resting on Tom’s thighs. “More than a bit.”

“Jack plays dirty,” Tom said. He wanted Harry to lean in more but every time Tom moved closer, Harry pulled back a little. “What gives?”

“You’re kind of drunk, love,” Harry said, cupping the back of Tom’s neck. It might’ve looked like a tender gesture but Tom knew he did it so he could keep Tom in place. Tom was never overly affectionate unless he’s had a drink or seven.

“So are you.”

“Exactly.”

Tom pushed his bottom lip out. “I’m not drunk, I promise.”

“Oh, really?” He leaned in, his hands moving to Tom’s hips. He brushed his nose against Tom’s before he met his waiting mouth. He tasted like salt and limes and tequila, and Tom wasn’t entirely sure he couldn’t get drunk just off of this alone. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, holding him closer. They were lazy kisses, neither of them in any rush. In the other room, their mates carried on with their game, and Tom and Harry were in their own little world.

There was something about kissing Harry—like going into a grocery store late at night or going away to the countryside for holiday. As if time ceased to exist. When he kissed Harry, it was as if he could physically feel the sensation of falling for him. With every kiss, he fell deeper and deeper, but Harry was always there to catch him.

He pulled back a bit, Harry’s lips brushing the side of his mouth. “Hey.”

Harry smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re such a good kisser.”

Harry’s head fell back as he laughed, jostling Tom, who was still wrapped around him. “You really are drunk.”

Tom put his head in the crook of Harry’s neck and breathed. “Maybe. It’s the hard liquor. I’m a beer man.”

“Did you just sniff me?”

“Maybe.”

Harry laughed again, softer now, and rubbed Tom’s back. “And what do I smell like?”

“At the moment, like a tequila shot.”

“Do you do that often?”

“What, tequila shots?”

Harry’s smile was impossibly patient. Tom wondered how he didn’t seem drunker. “No. Smell me.”

“Sometimes,” Tom admitted, if only because his brain was too addled to stop him. “Why?”

“No reason,” Harry said. He bumped Tom’s knee with his hip. “We should rejoin the others before they send in a search team.”

“I wonder who that would consist of,” Tom said as he hopped off the counter. “Jack would be the leader.”

“Definitely. Captain Jack.”

“Aneurin would be the navigator.”

“Aneurin would be the chef. Gigi would be the navigator.”

“I’d be the what?” Gigi asked when they walked back into the living room. Everyone stopped the game apparently, either too drunk or having run out of things to say, and was starting to get their sleeping arrangements in order. Her head was propped up on her hand while Barry spread a blanket out for them.

“The navigator,” Harry told her. “In case we ever need a search party.”

“Naturally, that’s what they’re talking about,” Fionn said. Richard chuckled from where he was lying down on the other side of the coffee table. “You two are so weird.”

“Yeah,” Tom said at the same time Harry said, “Pretty much.”

 

* * *

 

Sunday – 29 Days After

 

The storm finally stopped early Sunday morning, leaving an untouched layer of powder over their neighborhood. Tom managed to sneak away around 8, when the sun was beginning to set, casting a pink glow over everything. Wrapping a blanket over his shoulders, Tom went out onto the front porch with a cup of tea, slipping his feet into the first pair of boots he found that looked like they’d fit.

After two days locked in the house, Tom needed a break from the noise. Even though there was snow on the ground, it wasn’t frigid. He took the few steps down the front steps and put a foot down to make sure the snow wasn’t too high. When he was sure the powder didn’t rise higher than the boots, he tightened his grip on the blanket and started down what he thought might’ve been the sidewalk at one point.

Because of how much traveling Tom’s done, a bit of snow wasn’t new or revolutionary for him. But their university was the biggest part of this otherwise small town, which very rarely saw this much snow. The majority of their neighbors were elderly or families that commuted to Manchester for work, and no one ever seemed to be in a rush. If Tom had to guess, the streets wouldn’t be cleared for a couple days, the town relying on the weather to get rid of the sheets of powder rather than dealing with it properly.

He probably looked insane walking around with a puke green throw draped over his shoulders, but he didn’t want to risk going up those creaky steps to get his jacket, and his coat downstairs did not do well with _wet_. The snow turned to slush with every step he took, and he had to tread very carefully to keep from slipping. The very last thing he needed was to fall and hurt his ankle, joining Harry on the couch with his leg propped up.

When he made it to the corner, his lungs felt clearer already and the cool air erased the sheen of sweat that had been clinging to him from being around so many people in such a confined space. Growing up on his family’s own land and being able to travel to big open spaces whenever his parents fancied, Tom was used to being outside more often than he was able to do living here. He had to escape sometimes to recharge his battery, which meant his friends had gotten used to his disappearing acts.

It also meant people rarely went after him when he did disappear.

“Wow,” Daren called out, materializing a few feet away from Tom, who wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings before. “I couldn’t have planned this better if I tried.”

Instinct took over, urging him to turn around and run, but he didn’t think he could pull it off gracefully, what with the snow and the blanket. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was staying with a mate,” he told Tom. “Down the street. We got snowed in.”

Tom couldn’t help himself. “Didn’t want to check your weather app?”

“What are _you_ doing out here?” Daren asked. He didn’t ask why Tom looked the way he did, but Tom didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled up the length of him. “Ways away from the halls, isn’t it?”

“That’s not your business—“

“Tom?”

Tom looked over his shoulder as Harry walked towards him, wearing what looked like Jack’s green army jacket. “Harry, your ankle.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, his gaze fixed on Daren.

“Ooh, you must be the boyfriend,” Daren said with a shit eating that made Tom’s lip curl.

Harry stared at him like he wasn’t sure if Tom’s ex boyfriend was serious or not. “You seem pretty confident for a guy wearing a sweater vest in the snow.”

Daren took a step closer, his smile gone now. “Do you really want to go there? Look at _you_. You’re a joke.”

This was not happening.

“Daren, fuck off,” Tom said. “This is just pathetic.”

“Fionn told me all about you,” Daren continued, grasping at straws now if he was bringing up Fionn. “That you were an _artist_ and he didn’t even know what Tom saw in you. That neither of you were compatible—“

“Seriously, stop.” All of this was the rubbish Fionn would say before but not _now_. Not anymore. And Tom shouldn’t have been surprised that Daren would try to use Fionn’s misery to spread even more. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Daren asked. “Can you honestly tell me that you’re into _this_? Face it, Tom—this is a bloody cry for help. I’m surprised your father hasn’t fixed it yet.“

“Who do you think you are trying to tell me what I want?” Tom snapped. “You’ve _never_ known what the hell I’ve wanted. This is a cry for help? Fuck you, Daren. I _love_ him. And I realize you’ve never understood what that was like, but I do now. I _never_ loved you.”

“That’s—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daren said but there wasn’t any of that false bravado. After all this time, Tom finally managed to crack his armor.

He twisted the knife that he lodged in Daren’s throat. “No matter what you do, no matter which of my friends you try to mess with—I will _never_ forgive you for the shit you put me through. Harry is nothing like you, and I’m glad for it. You lack a _soul_ , Daren. I don’t even know how you live with yourself.”

“Oh go on, play the victim—“

“I don’t need to play the victim. I know what happened, and so do you, and anything you tell other people is rubbish. I’m not playing your games anymore. I’m through with that.”

“Then you’re a nobody just like him,” Daren said snidely. “Maybe he’ll fuck off just like your brother did—and it’ll be all your fault, too, because you’re—“

Tom never did learn what he was because one second Daren was upright and spewing poison and the next, he was on his back, Harry on top of him. The sound of Daren’s nose crunching under Harry’s fist echoed throughout the neighborhood.

Red stained the powder white snow.

“ _Harry_!” he screamed, tugging at Harry’s arm uselessly. “Harry, you’re killing him!”

Daren’s head lolled from side to side, his face a bloodied mess—

 

Tom startled awake, his heart pounding in his ears. He looked to his right, and Harry was still there, still asleep with his back to Tom.

He lay back down next to him, settling into the pillows. It was hot in the room with all of them so Harry took his shirt off in the middle of the night. There was a sprinkle of freckles over his right shoulder blade that Tom never noticed before.

Outside, the first rays of sunlight were peaking through the blinds. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was blood. He had no idea why he would dream something so violent, but he was sure a therapist could probably sort it out for him.

Abruptly, Harry rolled over and draped his arm over Tom’s middle. Tom gently brushed his fingers across his cheekbones.

“Harry,” he said softly. “Babe, I had a dream that you beat Daren’s arse.”

Harry’s forehead creased. He lifted his face towards Tom, his eyes bleary from sleep. “What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Tom said, kissing his forehead. “Want to help me make breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Together, they got up and very carefully walked around their sleeping friends.

Harry leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes as Tom took out the cartoon of eggs and milk. He was still shirtless, and Tom’s gaze kept snagging on the trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. He’d like to think one day he wouldn’t be so distracted by Harry.

Tom turned on the hob and the little flame flared up in response. He started on cracking eggs into a bowl while he waited for the pan to warm up, and Harry watched, his eyes still a little unfocused. Tom would’ve felt bad for waking him up if Harry didn’t spend most nights trying to keep Tom up for his own nefarious reasons.

Pulling up the drawer, he grabbed a fork and started to whisk the eggs until they were a runny, yellow soup. He added the milk next, turning the eggs a pale yellow. Harry slid the salt and pepper over to Tom, who smiled thankfully at him.

“So,” Harry said as Tom went to get the butter for the pan. “I got into a fight with your ex?”

Tom set the butter down by the hob. “I don’t even know where it came from. It felt so real. I went for a walk, and then he was there, and you had come after me. He was—“ Tom trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat what Daren said, even if it was in his own dream. Was Daren just a vessel for the fears that Tom didn’t want to admit?

Harry touched Tom’s elbow, bringing him out of his thoughts. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He was just being his usual, awful self and you snapped. That’s all.”

“Is that what you like?” Harry asked, trailing his finger up Tom’s arm. “Me defending your honor?”

“I’m traumatized.”

“Duly noted.”

Tom smirked as he scooped out a bit of butter and dropped it into the pan, which sizzled at contact. Tom lifted the pan and moved the butter around the sides, and once it was all coated, he poured the eggs mixture. While Tom waited for the eggs to cook, Harry started on the toast. Unlike Tom could have ever done, Harry’s slices were even and he set them out in neat rows on a cooking sheet. He was methodical in everything he did, Tom noticed. It was another layer to Harry that Tom was discovering.

As Tom and Harry finished making breakfast, his thoughts kept going back to another part of his dream—where he said that he loved Harry.

 

* * *

 

Harry started to get restless around mid afternoon. He grabbed his bucket of supplies from the bedroom, and Tom followed him down to the basement. There was an easel set up amongst the shelves of cleaning supplies and junk. Tom sat down on one of the rusted folding chairs while Harry went to search for a clean canvas.

“I forgot I had stuff down here,” he said as he rifled through the finished pieces. He pulled out one and showed Tom. “God, look at this. This was my first portrait.”

Tom supposed Harry wanted him to tell him how much he used to suck but even his beginning work was incredible. It was a girl that Tom’s never met, but it was as good as a photograph. He captured the bits of gray in her blue eyes and the cleft of her chin and the peach fuzz on her cheeks. The style was a little different, a little less 3D than Tom was used to with Harry’s paintings, but still.

He found a blank canvas and set it up on the easel, pulling the stool closer. Because he was limited in what he could do down in the basement, he was using acrylics so they didn’t end up dying from the fumes down here. He changed out of his pajamas into a pair of ripped jeans and an old t-shirt of Tom’s, his hair pushed out of his face with a red bandana. He only started on the outline of Tom’s head, and he still managed to get a smear of paint on his forehead and a glob on his thigh.

“So,” Harry said as he cleaned off his brush to switch to a different color, “I wanted to run something by you.”

“What’s up?” Tom asked, setting down his phone.

“I’ve painted you a lot since we first met,” Harry said, “and they’re actually some of my favorite paintings. I think I’ve gotten enough for an exhibition.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Of just me?”

“Amongst other things I’ve done,” Harry said, “but you’d be an integral part of the exhibit. I’ve seen the gallery—a few of my mates have had exhibitions there—and I would have your portraits as the centerpiece. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I’m just—I’m really proud. Of them. Of all of it. And I want to share that with you.”

Tom smiled. “Well when you put it that way.”

“Is that a yes?” Harry asked.

“Did you think I was going to say no?”

“Fuck,” Harry said, getting to his feet and coming over to where Tom was sitting.

Tom chuckled as Harry wrapped his arms around Tom’s head, pressing the side of his face into Harry’s abs. He patted Harry’s back. “H, at this point, you’d have to know I’d always support your art.”

“I know but it’s a lot to ask.” He bent down to kiss the top of Tom’s head. “I really, really love you.”

Tom caught Harry’s hand before he could go back to his stool. “I love you, too.”

He could feel Harry freeze, his whole arm stiffening. Tom waited patiently for him to catch up. Unlike poor Harry, Tom had the advantage of knowing that Harry reciprocated his feelings. Maybe that made him a shitty person, but Tom needed to know—to know that Harry did love him even if Tom didn’t love him back. He needed that little push, but he knew he’d get there in the end.

Harry cleared his throat. “Did you just—?”

“I love you,” Tom said, standing up. “I see the way you look at me. I can _feel_ how much you love me. I think I just knew that I felt the same way, but I got scared. My brother was the other half of my soul. I didn’t want to admit how strongly I felt about you, only to lose you, too.”

But he knew now how ridiculous that was. Hearing Daren say it, even in a dream, showed him that.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry promised. “Definitely not.”

“I know. I was being stupid.”

“Are we in love right now?” Harry asked with a grin as he held onto Tom.

Tom kissed the curve of his jaw. “Yeah. We’re in love right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how to start this because I always feel as if I'm patronizing you guys when I'm all like *claps hands together* ALRIGHT GUYS I'VE GOT SOME THINGS TO SAY
> 
> So I won't do that. But obviously this took a couple weeks to post, and I feel really, really bad about that. That's why I ended this chapter in a way that feels a little final (even though it's not). The story isn't over, but I'm going to have to go on a little hiatus. School is really intense this semester, and I can't really spare any time for writing this with my other obligations. I still love this story and these characters, and I'll be writing bits and pieces when I get the moment. I just want to say this now so people don't think I abandoned the story if it takes me a month (or longer) to update. 
> 
> As always, I'm over on tumblr at mymoonandstyles.tumblr.com. If you have any questions, or just want to talk, my inbox is always open. Thanks for understanding and for all the support.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is not a love song that we like  
> We're all broken pieces floating by
> 
> broken x lovelytheband

PART TWO - Eight Months Later

 

Tom tugged at the tie around his neck, which felt more like a noose than an accessory. Across the hall, he could hear Chelsea, Professor Wentworth’s assistant, on the phone. His eyes dropped to the picture he had on his desk: a group shot of Aneurin, Jack, Fionn, Barry, and himself outside of Old Trafford. It was one of the only pictures where they were all together.

Tom picked up the picture, running his thumb along the smooth edge of the wooden frame. How many months had it been since they were all together? There was snow on the ground if he remembered correctly. They had a sleep over at their old place.

He told Harry that he loved him.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. He drew in a breath, letting the air expand his lungs and decompress again. When he opened his eyes, he set down the picture and grabbed the fountain pen his mother gifted him when he started university. He still had loads of paperwork to do before he was meant to shadow Professor Wentworth in his meeting, and he needed to get it down if he was going to be able to leave on time. He spent most evenings in the office, getting work done that the other interns didn’t. It wasn’t part of his job description, but he needed to set himself apart from the other students, even if they hated him for it.

Eddie Greer stuck his head in Tom’s cubicle, his messy hair falling into his eyes. “Tom, we’re going for a pint. Coming?”

“Can’t,” Tom said, leaning back in his desk chair. He plastered on his best smile to soften the blow. “I’m going with Wentworth to his meeting. To take notes.”

Eddie’s smile was forced. “Of course. Alright, see you tomorrow, man.”

“Yeah. Enjoy.” Tom knew what they said about him. Called him the Golden Boy and the irony of that wasn’t lost on Tom. He knew that in reality Eddie wasn’t really inviting him out. It was just a test to see if he would. Even as Eddie went back out to the cubicle he shared with Vincent, Tom could hear their muffled voices, no doubt talking about the preferential treatment their professor showed him. Professor Wentworth would never ask the others to join him in an important meeting, and the entire office knew it.

Half an hour later, he heard a door open and looked up from the manuscript he was looking over. Chelsea was on her feet, hurrying over to the coat rack for Wentworth’s overcoat and hat. The professor smiled at her as she handed it to him, draping his coat over his arm. He turned to where Tom’s desk was and nodded.

“Ready?” he asked.

Tom slid the unfinished paperwork into its folder and pushed back his chair. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, then let’s go, boy.”

 

* * *

 

His car beeped twice as he hit the lock button on his key fob. He pocketed his keys and walked up to his building. The navy clad doorman tipped his hat to him as he opened one of the front doors for Tom, who smiled gratefully. He glanced at the gold-plated nametag on his chest: _Jeffrey_. He’d need to remember that.

The lift ride to his flat was a short one, and as he was reaching for his keys to let himself in, the door swung open. Isaac grinned at him, still wearing the suit he wore to work.

“I was just on my way out,” he told Tom. “Did you want to do dinner later?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, his brows furrowing as he walked in. “Where are you off to?”

“I left a case I needed to study tonight at the office,” he said. “I can pick up some takeaway. What are we in the mood for?”

“You pick,” Tom said as he shrugged out of his coat. “When will you be home?”

“Less than an hour, I promise,” Isaac said, smiling widely. “Work was good?”

Tom hung up his coat on one of the hooks by the door. “Work was fine. I’ve got to head to campus tomorrow morning to drop off documents for Wentworth. Want me to drop you off at the office?”

“That’d be great. I’ll see you soon.” Isaac leaned in to kiss Tom’s cheek before he left.

Tom kicked off his shoes and went to his bedroom. Isaac left the door to his room opened, revealing the mess of clothes strewn about. Tom nearly smiled. If Collin was living with them, he’d have already got on Isaac for being so messy, but as it was, Tom didn’t mind that much so long as it was contained in his bedroom.

The first thing he did was yank off his tie, throwing it in the general direction of his wardrobe. He unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to the floor before he stepped out of them. Next, he removed his suit jacket, so he was only in his button down and pants. He really wanted to take a bath, but he needed to be gone fifteen minutes ago and settled on a pair of joggers and a hoodie to be comfortable instead.

He was about to walk out of the flat when his phone started to ring in the pocket of his hoodie. He fumbled for it and swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“I’m on my way,” Tom said in lieu of a proper greeting.

Jack’s irritation was palpable when he asked, “What’d you tell Isaac?”

“Nothing,” Tom said, locking up the flat. “He had to go back to the office and then he’s getting a takeaway for us. If he comes home before me, I’ll lie and say I went to the market to grab something. Calm down.”

“I don’t like to be here,” Jack said under his breath. “It makes my skin crawl. Fionn won’t get out of the car.”

“Why’d you bring Fionn?”

“Because Barry went to Gigi’s sister’s recital, and I’m not bloody coming here by myself. Did you talk to your professor yet?”

Tom pushed the button to call for the lift. “Yeah. It’ll be done in a week. We just need a little bit more.”

“Hence this delightful excursion,” Jack said dryly. “Okay. I’m going to check on Fionn.”

“See you soon,” Tom said before he ended the call.

 

* * *

 

 

True to her word, Mum gifted Tom a new car for Christmas; it wasn’t nearly as nice as his old one, but he couldn’t possibly hate on a car as nice as a Range Rover. He never did tell her how he managed to smash his old car all to hell, but he knew she assumed he crashed it, hence the tank he now called his own. Every time he slipped into the buttery leather seats, he felt like he was going off to war in it. It was a very Mum way of showing her love. Her worst nightmare was losing another son, so if she needed to spend a quarter million pounds on a new car for her son’s protection, she’d do it.

It was less conspicuous than the Ferrari he was using through the past Christmas, but he still parked it down the road from where he was meeting the others. He could see Jack’s Volkswagen parked a little further up from where he was. He got out and locked the car before he started down the sidewalk, pulling his hood over his head. It was cool for an evening in August, so his outfit wasn’t odd despite the time of year. Even Jack, who he could see now was sitting on the curb besides his car, was wearing a hoodie and jeans.

Tom peeked inside the Volkswagen at Fionn, who was on the phone in the passenger seat. He waved at Tom when he walked by.

“He didn’t want you to sit in the car?” Tom asked as he came to stand in front of Jack.

Jack rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. “He’s talking to Tran.”

Ah.

“Let’s make this quick,” Tom said. “Gigi said it was the last one on this strip.”

“I still can’t believe you did that to your hair,” Jack said, eyeing the bits that fell over his forehead. “It’s like you’re my brother.”

Tom smoothed his hair back, so the red strands were tucked under his hood. “Your hair has never been this shade of red.”

“And you really won’t tell me why you did it? Because if it’s about those pricks at work—”

“I wouldn’t dye my hair because of a nickname,” Tom said. “I just wanted a change.”

Jack eyed him. “Because this past year hasn’t been full of change.”

“Let’s not,” Tom said. He nodded to the shop they were standing across the street from now, which looked to be closed despite the hour. “This is it. Should we try to knock?”

“I think that’d defeat the purpose of all this,” Jack said dryly. “We’ll go around back.”

Tom glanced back at Fionn, who was still on the phone but watching them now, before he followed Jack.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after he dropped Isaac off at his office, Tom headed to campus. He didn’t make the drive often, especially since he graduated last month and finished classes the month prior. He had no real reason to be here now, but even more than that, he tried his hardest to avoid being here anyway.

He kept his head down as he trekked across campus to Wentworth’s office in the School of Law building. There were still people on this campus that Tom would like to avoid. The only person that he cared for who was still here was Victoria, but he knew for a fact that she wouldn’t be around at this time of day.

He just looked up in time to see another body ram right into his. He stumbled backwards but hands shot out to catch him, holding him upright. When he lifted his eyes, he looked right into the face of his ex-boyfriend.

“Hey, I’m so sorry—oh,” Harry Styles said, dropping his hands. “Tom. Hi.”

Tom fixed his gaze on the wall over Harry’s head. The parts of him that Harry was just touching stung. “It’s fine.”

“I didn’t see you,” Harry said. “Your hair—it’s—"

“I dyed it,” Tom said. “Yeah.”

“Ah. Well. It looks nice.”

Tom smiled wryly. Finally, he dropped his eyes to Harry’s face. “You don’t need to lie.”  

Harry didn’t hide the fact that he was staring opening at the suit Tom wore, the briefcase in his hand. “Working?”

“I had some stuff to drop off,” Tom said, lifting his briefcase. “I should go. I’m expected somewhere.”

“Right,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tom forced a smile before he moved to walk around Harry. He barely made it two steps before Harry caught his arm. He looked over his shoulder, arching a brow. “You alright?”

“Are you happy?” Harry asked, ignoring him. His face was so serious, so intense, that Tom had to force himself not to look away.

“My happiness is not your problem,” Tom said, shaking him off of him. He straightened the sleeve of his suit jacket. “It was nice seeing you, H. Have a good one.”

He didn’t wait for Harry to respond before he was walking away, leaving him behind.

Harry never forgave him for giving up the internship with Professeur Perrin. He issued an ultimatum: either take the internship or Harry would be done. He never waited to hear Tom’s reasoning for taking an internship with Professor Wentworth instead. He never tried to understand how hard it was for Tom to make that choice.

So Tom just let him walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while. 
> 
> I know this chapter is very, very short, and a lot to take in, but I wanted to post something now to show that hey! I'm back! The semester's finally over, and I can finally get back into writing for myself again. It took me awhile to figure out the direction I wanted to take this in, and I'm really excited to share it all with you guys. 
> 
> I'd love to hear any and all thoughts so pop in down in the comments or in my inbox over at mymoonandstyles.tumblr.com.
> 
>  
> 
> *5/12/18: I'm not sure if people noticed but there is a time jump with this chapter. Eight months have passed since Chapter 21.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I can never say sorry 'cause I won't take the blame  
> I know I always go missing and you're lying awake  
> But if you ask why I'm distant, oh, I'm running away
> 
> alone x halsey

No one seemed to get under Tom’s skin like Harry did.

For the rest of the day, no matter what he did, he couldn’t get Harry out of his head. He was there when he got back into his car, his nails painted black and his hair curling around his ears. He was there when Tom was in line to get coffees, tanned skin and forest green eyes. He was there when Tom shut his eyes, his breath on Tom’s cheek and his hands brushing against Tom’s leg. Harry was everywhere, and yet he wasn’t.

Tom couldn’t remember anything except the way his voice sounded when he asked if Tom was happy.

When he got back to the flat after work, the lights were all off, which meant Isaac still wasn’t home yet—or he’d been home and left again without telling Tom. Tom tried not to care. Isaac wasn’t his responsibility. They lived together out of convenience—or maybe in a misguided attempt to find that piece of themselves that they lost in a single moment.

He made himself a dry bowl of Wheaties and went to sit on the couch, turning on the TV before he sat down. He had a couple cases he needed to study tonight before he went to court tomorrow with Wentworth, but he couldn’t even muster the energy to take them out, never mind look through them.

He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, resting the bowl on his stomach. Now that he wasn’t dancing anymore, he was starting to get soft, losing the definition on his abdomen. He spent all of his time sitting at a desk now. Even Fionn, who hated exercise, hit the gym every night because the play he was in required him to look a certain way. He used to ask Tom to go with him, but after a while, the texts stopped coming.

As he ate his cereal and watched the evening news, his thoughts started to drift. The last time he saw Harry was when Harry walked out of their bedroom for the last time nearly six months ago. Tom had been lying to him for a month at that point, and he found out when he went to surprise Tom at dance, only to learn that Tom dropped out and turned down the internship from Professeur Perrin. He thought he could get Tom to reverse everything he had done. He thought that he could just smash everything back together like a child trying to keep their broken toy from falling apart.

That was the last time Tom felt anything other than the numbness that settled into his very bones.

He hadn’t dated anyone else. Hadn’t slept with anyone else. There had been offers, and his friends tried to set him up a couple times, but Tom couldn’t even muster the energy to be distantly polite when turning them down. What Harry did was his business, and Tom didn’t often let his thoughts go there.

And then there was Isaac. Over a bottle of tequila, Tom learned a bit more about Isaac and his sexual leanings. He had a boyfriend back in uni. Not Collin. A bloke in their hall. They didn’t talk anymore but sometimes Isaac missed him. Tom could tell then that Isaac looked at him a little different now, with new eyes. They weren’t 16 and 12 anymore. They weren’t 18 and 14. Isaac was 25, nearly 26, and Tom was 22.

But he wasn’t Harry.

Tom learned a long time ago that, that distinction was the most important. 

        

* * *

 

The man sitting across from him was depraved.

Certifiably insane.

Felix Wilson wore a cap over his freshly shaven head, the cross around his neck tucked into the plain t-shirt he had on. He didn’t see Tom, who was sitting two tables away facing him with a pair of glasses blocking his face. He didn’t recognize the head of red hair that Tom was currently sporting, nor did he expect Tom to be in a shitty restaurant in Northwich.

Tom took a sip from the water he ordered. The waitress tried to pressure him into a beer, but Tom needed to keep his head clear just in case. He didn’t think Felix would realize who was watching him though. He’d been following Felix for three months now, and Felix didn’t notice anything that didn’t benefit him somehow. Tom thought he almost got caught one time when he was following him in town, but Felix’s attention was ultimately snagged by a girl crossing the street, not Tom.

 Jack’s been on him for ages to cut it out—that they didn’t need to go to all these lengths. But Tom knew what it was like to underestimate Felix. He’s lost enough to remember not to do it again.

Abruptly, Felix got up from his table, his focus on his phone in his hand. Tom waited a beat before he followed him out of the place, keeping a good distance between them. He adopted the stroll of someone who had all the time in the world on this sunny Saturday afternoon, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. Ahead of him, Felix plowed through foot traffic like a man on a mission, and Tom ignored the way his heart hammered in his chest.

Felix took a sharp turn right, down an alley.

Tom hesitated.

He wasn’t particularly interested in getting roughed up that afternoon, or worse, especially since he had somewhere to be later. Instead, he opened the camera app on his phone and took a picture of the two shops on either side of the alleyway, so he’d remember exactly where it was when he told Jack later. His mates would be pissed that Tom had let it get this far, but Tom wanted this to be over. He was so tired—tired of chasing ghosts while his own life was put on hold.

 

* * *

 

Tom ran his fingers through his freshly dyed hair. They were still stained red from doing it himself, and he couldn’t help but think of blood whenever he looked at them. His suit was in his backpack at his feet, and he had a sinking suspicion that the holey jumper he wore wasn’t his.

On the other side of the table, Harry was making a poor attempt at not meeting Tom’s eyes as he sat beside Fionn, who looked wildly uncomfortable at being found out. After work a few days after his trip to Northwich, Tom was waiting for Fionn on the steps of his building when Fionn walked up with Harry, both dressed in gym clothes with their hair plastered to their faces. It was like seeing Harry the other day broke down whatever wall that kept Tom from seeing him for months and now he couldn’t escape him.

“So,” Tom drawled, “this is nice.”

“Tom—”

“That’s why you stopped asking me to workout, isn’t it?”

“We go to the same gym,” Fionn said. “I saw him boxing one day. And you never text me back—"

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Harry said under his breath.

Tom ignored him, ignored the way his voice sliced through him. “I had some free time for once.”

Fionn cut his eyes to Harry before he asked, “Are you meeting Jack later?”

“Not today,” Tom said. “I wanted to hang out but if you’re busy—”

“I’ll leave,” Harry said, rising to his feet. Tom didn’t bother looking at him, keeping his eyes on Fionn. “I’ve got somewhere to be anyway.”

Tom gritted his teeth. It was for Tom’s benefit that Harry was purposefully vague—to keep him wondering, to make him jealous. A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought Harry would stoop so low.

But a year ago, they were in a very different place.

“I’ll walk you out,” Fionn said quietly, getting up as well. He gave Tom an apologetic look before he nodded for Harry to go first towards the door. Eager to get him out with minimal damage. Tom couldn’t blame him.

He wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans. He hated this. Hated the tension between him and Harry. But there was nothing he could do about it. They both made their choices.

When Fionn came back, Tom’s head was in his hands, his fingers squeezing at his hair. His friend cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, mate. Usually we don’t hang out after the gym but—"

Tom lifted his head, his throat tight. “He’s your friend, too.”

They had a tough start, the two of them. Fionn hated Harry for the longest time, for reasons that had nothing to do with Harry. Tom didn’t want to be the reason they stopped talking. He already hated himself enough.

“But you’re my _best_ friend,” Fionn said. “If it makes you uncomfortable, then I don’t have to see him as much. Or at all.”

“Fionn,” Tom said, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Are you hungry? We could grab—"

Fionn’s cheeks flushed. “I already ate.”

“Ah. Okay. Well.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Fionn said. “I should’ve told you.”

He arched a brow. “That you already ate?”

“No. About Harry.”

“I don’t expect you to give up your friendships for me. Besides, he’s one of your boyfriend’s closest friends—"

“He misses you,” Fionn said, cutting over Tom. “Do you miss him?”

The muscle in Tom’s jaw twitched.

“Does it matter?” he asked flatly. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

“But it could,” Fionn pressed. “Tom, I know you miss him. I saw the way you looked at him. He still means something—”

“He didn’t listen to me,” Tom said. “He didn’t listen to me at all. He still thinks he can make choices for me, even after I said not to.”

“If you just _told_ him—”

“You don’t think I tried?” Tom snapped. “He didn’t want to hear it.”

Fionn pursed his lips. “You’re both so bloody stubborn.”

To that, Tom didn’t know how to respond.

                

* * *

 

 

For some reason, there was one memory in particular that Tom couldn’t get out of his head, especially when he was alone in his bed, waiting for sleep that would never come.

 

_It was Valentine’s Day—their first one together. Harry wanted to surprise Tom by planning the entire weekend, and they ended up in a hotel room in Bath. Harry was sitting on the bed, mussing the rose petals that were embarrassingly set out for them in a heart pattern. Tom fiddled with a bottle of champagne that neither of them would drink._

_Harry tugged at Tom’s jacket, urging him closer. “Leave it.”_

_Tom set it down on the desk before he turned to Harry. “Too tired?”_

_“Nah,” Harry said. “I just want to kiss my boyfriend.”_

_Tom felt his mouth tug into a goofy grin, and he dipped his head down to meet Harry’s waiting mouth. He curled his fingers into Harry’s hair, which was longer now than when he cut it a few months ago. Gently, Harry pressed into Tom’s lower back until Tom lowered himself onto Harry’s lap, his knees on either side of him. He could feel Harry’s arousal underneath him, and he groaned a little at the contact._

_Harry leaned back so Tom was hovering over him. He cupped the side of Tom’s cheek. “I love you,” he said before kissing the side of Tom’s mouth._

_“I love you,” Tom said, smiling down at him. He rolled onto his side next to Harry, keeping one leg hooked hover Harry’s. “Thank you for dinner.”_

_Harry sat up for a second to tug his jumper over his head and threw it somewhere in the room before he turned to face Tom. “I’m glad you liked it. I was worried for a second that it wasn’t posh—”_

_“I don’t care about that,” Tom said. “You know I don’t.”_

_“I know,” Harry said, “but I wanted it to be different. Not a shite pub and a roast like we usually do. I’ve never done a Valentine’s Day like this, but I wanted to try. For you. For us. This is it for me, Tom. You’re it for me.”_

_Tom’s heart squeezed, his eyes prickling a little with tears he’d never shed. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s cheek. Harry snacked his arm around Tom and held him close. They just stayed like that, the two of them, for the rest of the night until they eventually fell asleep wrapped around one another._

 

Tom rolled over in his own bed now, staring at the spot that Harry would’ve been in if they were still together. When they first broke up, Tom tried to sleep in the middle of the bed, as if it was some kind of prize to be able to have a bed all to his own. But it felt too wrong, and eventually, Tom retreated back to his usual spot on the right side of the bed, leaving the left abandoned.

That was what he missed the most, he thought. One of his favorite things to do was lay in bed with Harry, who always fell asleep so easily. He used to just look at him, wondering how someone as beautiful as Harry could ever love him. It was an insecurity from before Harry, but sometimes Tom could feel those thoughts sneak into his consciousness, whispering in his ear that he’d never be good enough.

He always thought it would be Tom’s own hang ups that would ruin them. He never in a million years thought it would’ve all fallen apart the way it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I have read over this before I posted it? Probably.


End file.
